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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29205726">Lost My Mind</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/icantloseyoutoo/pseuds/icantloseyoutoo'>icantloseyoutoo</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Cop AU, Detective Bellamy Blake, Detective Clarke Griffin, Drugs, F/M, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Murder, Partners to Lovers, Protective Bellamy Blake, Protective Clarke Griffin, Suggestive Themes, Undercover, Violence, aka there's lots of guns, and all-round HR nightmare, background murven maybe??, everyone knows but them, inappropriate workplace flirting</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 05:35:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>21,634</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29205726</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/icantloseyoutoo/pseuds/icantloseyoutoo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A good partner is hard to come by. For Bellamy, he knew he struck gold when Clarke joined his unit, sharing the same mind, moving as one, always watching each other's backs. But when a drug bust goes wrong and Clarke is forced to dig up an old undercover identity, she puts herself in danger, and Bellamy has to deal with some hard truths about their partnership that could change their relationship forever.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>98</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>are you in my head half as often as you're on my mind?</p><p>song: Lost My Mind - Alice Kristiansen</p><p>based on Chicago PD 5x18 "Ghosts" (i've been turned in to an upstead fan, who'd have thought?)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Whether cop or criminal, Bellamy decided, a 6am start was downright cruel. That reliable Chicago wind rippled through his high-vis vest and he shivered, taking another sip of his coffee for warmth. With one cup in each hand, at least his fingers weren’t going numb.</p><p> </p><p>Static crackled in his ear. “<em>Griffin and Reyes arriving on scene, over. </em>”</p><p> </p><p>Those were the words he was waiting for. As Kane’s acknowledgement sounded over the radio, he moved away from the old warehouse, heading towards the sound of gravel crunching under wheels until he found his partner stepping out of the passenger side door.</p><p> </p><p>“Morning,” He handed Clarke the second coffee by way of greeting.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, thank God. We didn’t have any at home, <em> someone </em> forgot to add it to the shopping list.” She practically gulped it down, with a teasing look at Raven, still in the car.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, yeah,” Raven waved it off, then noticed Bellamy’s hands. “What, no coffee for me?”</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry,” he winced. “Habit.”</p><p> </p><p>Raven quirked a brow. “That’s one word for it. Never mind, I get to be in the van this morning anyway. One of us has to keep an eye on the cockroach.” The words were harsh, but they all knew it was in jest. Raven and Murphy were practically inseparable now, though their partnership hadn’t always been smooth sailing. Murphy had been with their unit for years; he’d actually been Bellamy’s partner for some time before Kane plucked Raven right out of the academy. He clearly saw something in her, but Murphy hadn’t been pleased about having his partner switched out, and going from working with a soldier-turned-detective to working with a rookie caused a lot of complaints until Raven got a handle on the way things worked at the precinct. Now, though, they were almost as in sync as Clarke and Bellamy. Almost.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s the plan?” Clarke asked as Raven hid their car, though she already knew.</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy explained as they walked to the construction site next to the warehouse. “Murphy’s taking his CI to the deal, thanks to Monty they’re both wired so we’ve got eyes and ears inside the building. We’ll be able to hear them through our earpieces but only Raven and Monty will be able to see what’s going on from inside the van on the north side of the building. Kane’s in a car to the east, Miller’s out west, and you and I are posing as the construction crew next door so we can be close just in case. Once Murphy sees the heroin, he’ll signal us to move in and then we get some drugs off the streets, and hopefully flip some dealers in the process.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sounds good.” Clarke shrugged on her own high-vis vest, and Bellamy couldn’t help but snort a little at the way it engulfed her, about two sizes too big, the reflective orange casting a strange tint on her skin. She punched him in the arm, no real force behind it. “Something funny?”</p><p> </p><p>“Not at all, fluorescent orange looks good on you. Definitely your color.” He bit his lip to hide the laugh.</p><p> </p><p>She narrowed her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Keep it in your pants, Blake.”</p><p> </p><p>“Didn’t realise it was out.”</p><p> </p><p>This time, she hit him harder.</p><p> </p><p>He lifted his hands in surrender, neither of them bothering to cover up their grins as they got back to work, making themselves look busy on the site. An hour later, after they’d walked the perimeter and pretended to inspect the concrete foundations, the deal was underway.</p><p> </p><p><em> “This is my boy John, the one I was telling you about.” </em>They heard Murphy’s CI, Dax, introduce him.</p><p> </p><p><em> “John who?” </em> an unfamiliar voice asked, one of the two dealers in the building with them.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Just John,” </em>Murphy drawled, and Bellamy could practically hear the smirk sliding onto his face. <em> “That’s all you need to know. I don’t ask yours, you don’t ask mine.” </em></p><p> </p><p>Dax cleared his throat, laughing uneasily. <em> “We gonna stand here making small talk all day or are we gonna do this?” </em></p><p> </p><p>A pause, then the second dealer spoke. <em> “What’s with you today, bro? You’re jumpy.” </em></p><p> </p><p>Clarke shot Bellamy a look while they pretended to look at plans on a clipboard. “Dax has done this before hasn’t he? Murphy’s busted deals with him in the past?”</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy nodded. “Yeah, not with these guys, but Murphy says he’s solid. Give him a minute.” While they spoke, Murphy must have been cooling things down inside because they heard a briefcase unclip.</p><p> </p><p><em> “Money’s all there, you can count it.” </em> Murphy said. <em> “Where’s the product?” </em> A duffel bag unzipped, and Murphy whistled. “<em>That’s a lot of tan. Looks like-” </em></p><p> </p><p>Murphy cut himself off, and Bellamy wrinkled his brows. He’d seen the drugs, he should be signalling them to come in now, and something darkened in his mind. This wasn’t right.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Hey, easy, man, we’re all friends here, put the gun down.” </em> Murphy sounded calm, but Bellamy was anything but. He hadn’t even realised he was moving until Clarke caught his arm and brought a hand to her ear, the unspoken message clear: <em> wait for the order </em>.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Easy? This little asshole has been squirming the whole damn time. You wearing a wire, Dax? You set us up? Huh?” </em></p><p> </p><p>Bellamy’s own hand twitched over his belt, where his side-arm was clipped in. Clarke gave him a warning look, but the sounds of gunfire in their ears shot them into action, each of them grabbing their own guns and moving into formation as the rest of the team closed in.</p><p> </p><p>“Dispatch, we need backup at the abandoned warehouse at the corner of 54th and Jefferson, shots fired, I repeat, shots fired!” Clarke shouted into her radio, then Raven’s voice crackled into their ears.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>We need an ambulance, we’ve got one DOA and one gunshot wound to the abdomen, first aid in progress.” </em></p><p> </p><p>Those words sent a sharp jolt of fear down Bellamy’s body, and he willed his legs to carry him faster, praying to god that Murphy wasn’t hit. Finally, as his muscles burned with effort, they burst through the doors with their guns up, overlapping shouts announcing themselves as police before confirming the area was clear. His eyes scanned the scene for his friends, and when Murphy rounded the corner, Bellamy almost collapsed in relief.</p><p> </p><p>“One of the dealers shot Dax, so I returned fire, he’s dead. His buddy got away with the drugs.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“Pissed off,” he huffed, but softened a little as he saw the concern in his eyes. “Yeah, man, I’m okay.”</p><p> </p><p>They holstered their weapons, and Bellamy clapped Murphy on the shoulder as they walked past, heading deeper into the warehouse. Around the corner, Clarke darted towards Raven, whose hands were bloodied with a grim expression on her face. Sliding her eyes to Murphy, she gave a subtle shake of her head that told them everything they needed to know. Dax was dead.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>-</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Back at the station, Murphy pinned Dax’s picture to the board. “Dax has been my informant for three years. Every time he’s come with me to a deal, it’s gone off without a hitch - until today.” He sighed, perching against his desk as he faced the team.</p><p> </p><p>“What was different about today?” Kane asked, looking at the sparse board with folded arms.</p><p> </p><p>Murphy gave a half shrug. “He was nervous. His contacts, the guys we were meeting with today, they were low-level, but he said they just started working for a new supplier. Apparently there’s been some kind of a power struggle going on over the last few months, and they’re under new management. Someone’s out there trying to stake their claim on Chicago’s heroin scene, and he had Dax scared. I think we could be sitting on something big here.”</p><p> </p><p>“Did you see anything in the warehouse that could help? Anything unusual?” Bellamy asked.</p><p> </p><p>“There was a symbol on the drugs, some kind of logo. Like they’re making a business. I didn’t get a good look though, things went to shit pretty fast after that.”</p><p> </p><p>“Cameras pick it up?” Miller asked Monty.</p><p> </p><p>He leaned over his computer and scrubbed through the footage. “Nothing. Couldn’t get a good angle before everything popped off.” His eyes flitted to Murphy. “Not your fault.”</p><p> </p><p>The corner of his lip twitched, as close to a smile as Murphy could manage at the moment. Bellamy knew he’d be blaming himself, he always did whenever things went wrong. He made a mental note to take him out for a drink when they had this settled.</p><p> </p><p>“What do we know about our dead dealer?” Kane pointed to the other picture on the board, and the name written in pen below it.</p><p> </p><p>“Finn Collins, busted a couple times for minor possession charges, nothing serious.” Bellamy had found that out himself, got his details from the license in his wallet and matched it with the name that came up in the system when he ran his prints.</p><p> </p><p>Just then, Raven burst through the door, holding a file up in her hands. “Got the ME’s report. Nothing too unexpected, some coke in his system, but he’s got an interesting tattoo - Jackson almost missed it. Could be a gang thing.”</p><p> </p><p>Without breaking her stride, she flipped open the file and pulled out a photograph of the back of Finn’s neck, and the small black infinity tattoo at his hairline. She attached it directly underneath his drivers’ licence photo, and Murphy stood up straight. “That’s it - that’s the logo that was on the heroin packages.”</p><p> </p><p>While everyone else’s attention was on Murphy, asking him questions and trying to work up a solid lead, Bellamy focused on Clarke, who was being unusually quiet. Normally she’d be diving head first into the action on something like this, but she’d taken a step back, face pale. She bristled, feeling his eyes on her, but didn’t meet them before she excused herself and ducked out of the room.</p><p> </p><p>He wanted to give her a minute, he really did. But as much as he tried to focus on Monty’s task of checking their database for similar tattoos, he kept eyeing the door, or staring at Clarke’s empty desk, waiting for her to come back. It took him about thirty seconds to decide to follow her into the hallway.</p><p> </p><p>When he found her, she was leaning against the radiator, chewing her nails. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”</p><p> </p><p>Startled, she stood up and wrapped her arms around herself. “Yeah, it’s just…” she blew out a breath. “I never thought I’d see that tattoo again.”</p><p> </p><p>It took him a second to process what that meant. “You’ve seen it before?”</p><p> </p><p>Clarke tipped her head back as she let out a humourless laugh, the darkness of it taking him by surprise. “You could say that.” She turned away from him, and for a moment he thought she was about to walk away until she scooped up her hair and twisted it up high, exposing the identical tattoo stark against her light skin. Letting it sink in, she waited a moment before spinning back around to face him. “I know who’s behind this.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>-</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Within the hour, Clarke was in Kane’s office with Bellamy at her side, a file in each of their hands. “Back last year, when I was in vice, I went undercover in the Wallace drug ring.”</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy lifted his head up to her. “You’re talking about <em> Cage </em> Wallace? That was you?”</p><p> </p><p>“He’s still in prison though, correct?” Kane skimmed through the first double page spread of the report from his chair.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, he is, but my team obviously must not have managed to scoop the rest of them up. There are still some major players on the streets, and if what Murphy’s saying is true, they’ve been fighting over who takes his place. I think one of them just won.”</p><p> </p><p>“Who?”</p><p> </p><p>Clarke flipped through the file until she found an old surveillance photo of her standing next to a gruff-looking man, mid-40s, left side of his head shaved and the right with brown hair hanging loose down to his cheekbones. Though Clarke was pointing to the man, Bellamy couldn’t take his eyes off Clarke in the picture. She looked rough, as if she hadn’t slept in a few days, her hair was messy and long, and her clothes were grubby. He’d never seen her like that before, without the light in her eyes. He didn’t like it.</p><p> </p><p>“Paxton McCreary.” Clarke slid the picture over to Kane. “He was Cage’s enforcer. Nasty piece of work with a mean streak and a knack for torture. I never liked him, but he’s the only one of that crew power-hungry and paranoid enough to fight his way to the top.”</p><p> </p><p>But Bellamy’s mind was snagged on something she’d said earlier. “You weren’t with them?”</p><p> </p><p>“Hm?”</p><p> </p><p>“Your team. You said they must have missed the rest of Wallace’s crew. Weren’t you with them?”</p><p> </p><p>Her mouth dropped open for a fraction of a second before she answered. “No, I wasn’t involved in the final bust or the trial; no sense blowing a solid cover without good reason. Besides, I took some personal time after being undercover. To feel like myself again.”</p><p> </p><p>Kane hadn’t looked away from the photo. “You’re sure it’s him?”</p><p> </p><p>“Completely. It’s just like him to bide his time, waiting for the right moment to pounce, even if he has to wait months. And then with the logo Murphy saw - he’s in the habit of, uh… <em> branding </em> his property. The people that work for him, the drugs, everything. That’s what the tattoos are.”</p><p> </p><p>“So what are you suggesting? You want to take a swing at this?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s our best shot of getting him. McCreary rules by fear - no one speaks out against him, and he’s too careful to leave evidence somewhere we can find it. He’s not gonna trust anybody new, but my cover’s intact. I can go in, get us what we need.”</p><p> </p><p>“Alone?” Bellamy balked.</p><p> </p><p>“No, no, at least not the whole time. Besides,” she nudged his hip with hers. “Not going anywhere without my partner.”<br/>
<br/>
He grumbled. “Good.”</p><p> </p><p>Kane cleared his throat, and Clarke continued. “We’ll find somewhere I can bump into him - alone - and catch up. I’ll start working for him again, and then introduce him to Bellamy as a potential buyer. We’ll need Monty to set up an identity for him, say I know him from high school. McCreary will bite if I vouch for him, then we can set up a deal, grab him on the spot.”</p><p> </p><p>“And you’re sure you’re comfortable going back undercover?” At Clarke’s nod, Kane closed the file and stood up. “Then let’s brief the team.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>-</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Outside in the cold night air, Clarke shivered, tugging at the hem of the tight red dress that barely hit mid-thigh. Not something that was usually in her wardrobe, but tonight she wasn’t Clarke Griffin. She was Hailey Upton, former member of Cage Wallace’s crew. She pretended to check something in her clutch and cleared her throat. “You receiving?”</p><p> </p><p>“Loud and clear,” Bellamy answered from inside the van. Miller sat with him, checking the cameras and recording equipment was working properly before giving him a thumbs up. “Everything looks good on our end, we’re ready whenever you are.” He watched as his partner nodded, saw her pacing outside the club from the CCTV feed they were hooked into. His mind drifted back to three days ago, when he helped move her into that sorry excuse for an apartment for her cover. She’d reminded him that Hailey was broke with no qualifications or job prospects, and the flimsy studio was all she could afford. Still, the thin walls, shady neighbours and cockroaches made his skin crawl, and he had half a mind to report the landlord to the housing authority himself. After a moment’s hesitation, he spoke again. “Not too late to back out of this, you know. No one would blame you.”</p><p> </p><p>If anything, that seemed to strengthen her resolve, because she took a deep breath, the exhale condensing in the air, before walking through the nightclub’s door. “She’ll be okay,” Miller said. “We’ve all got her back.”</p><p> </p><p>He nodded, but the words did little to settle the tugging in his gut. Of course the team had the building surrounded, and they’d tapped into all of the surveillance cameras in and outside of the club, so she was as safe as any undercover officer could be, but that wasn’t the problem. They’d never been apart on a job this big before; she’d always been right by his side, and now he kept looking to his left expecting to see her, like some kind of phantom limb. It was like missing a piece of himself, and he’d just watched her walk into the lion’s den.</p><p> </p><p>Second Dawn had always been on Chicago PD’s radar as a nest for shady dealings, but Bellamy hadn’t known that the club was originally owned by the Wallace family, used as a front to launder dirty money into a real business. Clarke told them that if McCreary really had taken over the heroin empire, this is where he’d operate - and she was right. They’d had the place under surveillance since the start of the operation, and they’d taken turns staking it out looking for him. All those hours locked up in the car weren’t quite the same without Clarke there, but the others had done their best to keep his mind off worrying about her. On the second night, Monty and Miller spotted him moving a truckload of boxes into the storage unit at the back of the club, and Clarke got the go-ahead to make contact.</p><p> </p><p>The footage from the club’s cameras was grainy, but Bellamy would be able to spot his partner anywhere. She was standing by the bar, nursing a probably non-alcoholic beer while she waited. McCreary was inside, they’d confirmed as much before sending her in, but she was hanging back so as not to appear too eager. Smart.</p><p> </p><p>From the button camera on her jacket, Bellamy could see McCreary finally look her way about twenty minutes after she walked in. He knew Clarke must have seen him too, because she pushed off from the bar and headed away from the crowds to the smoking area, as if she needed some air. Miller hummed in approval, knowing she’d done it to make their job easier, helping them hear their conversation in a quieter space away from the deafening music of the club.</p><p> </p><p>“Hailey,” A voice like gravel called out to Clarke just as she stepped outside. “That you?”</p><p> </p><p>Clarke looked his way. “Paxton. I was wondering who’d be left standing to run this place.”</p><p> </p><p>“You could’ve stuck around to find out.” He leaned on the doorframe, eyeing her cautiously. “Didn’t think I’d see you again.”</p><p> </p><p>She sighed, hugging her jacket tighter. “I know, it’s just… with what happened to Cage, I got spooked, didn’t want to get caught up in that. Went back to my mom’s old place for a while.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s not what I meant.” McCreary pushed off the doorframe and got close enough to Clarke to make Bellamy clamp up. “About that night… I’m sorry things happened the way they did.”</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy could have sworn he heard Clarke’s breath hitch in her throat. Miller shot him a quizzical look, and he shrugged. Whatever they were talking about, Clarke never mentioned it. “Yeah, well, a lot happened that night. Besides, it was a long time ago. We’re all different now.” At McCreary’s hoarse grunt, Clarke probed. “Unless you’re still in the business?”</p><p> </p><p>He paused. “Why’d you come back, Hailey?”</p><p> </p><p>“You know why. Same reason as always.” Taking a casual step back, she let out a grim laugh. “I’m broke. Look, I know it’s been a while, but… if you’ve still got something going on here, I could really use the work.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m in the nightclub business, Hails.”</p><p> </p><p>Hearing the nickname felt like something shredding in Bellamy’s chest, so he could only imagine what it felt like to Clarke. Whatever she might have been feeling, she held it together. “That’s not an answer.” McCreary didn’t respond, just kept watching her with those wary eyes. “Just think about it, okay? Please. For me.”</p><p> </p><p>His jaw tightened, but he didn’t answer her one way or another. Instead, he jerked his head to the neon exit sign, signalling Clarke to leave. After a moment, she nodded and left Second Dawn, making her way back to the apartment. Once she was out of sight of the club’s cameras, she muttered into her comms. “I know that look. Give him a few days, he’ll make contact. Until then, settle in. Check in soon.”</p><p> </p><p>Some emotion brewing in his stomach, Bellamy took off his vest and put on a plainclothes jacket that covered his badge and gun. He told Miller he was going for a walk, and tailed Clarke at a distance until she got home safe.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>-</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Three days later, Bellamy was walking through Millenium Park with the same leisure as the tourists usually crowding around The Bean, angling for the best photo opportunity. There weren’t many tourists here today, though, not that Bellamy blamed them. He wouldn’t be here either on a rainy Monday morning, getting soaked despite his umbrella, if today wasn’t the first scheduled check-in with Clarke since the night at Second Dawn.</p><p> </p><p>They couldn’t risk Bellamy going to her apartment just yet, especially in the early stages of the op before she gained McCreary’s trust. So instead, Bellamy would take a leisurely walk around the park on certain mornings, coffee in hand, while he had a conversation with her over the phone. As if on cue, the burner in his pocket vibrated. “Hey, you okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m good,” Even though she was out of breath, her voice was comfort made into sound. “Got a tail, but since I’m on a jog I think I can outrun him.”</p><p> </p><p>“Are you safe? You know who he is?” He was primed to reach for his gun.</p><p> </p><p>“At ease, soldier,” she laughed. “They don’t suspect anything, Paxton’s just being paranoid. But his name is Carl Emerson, if that helps. He’s his second in command. All he’ll see is me on a run listening to music.”</p><p> </p><p>He stiffened a little at the familiarity of Clarke using McCreary’s first name, but didn’t comment on it, wanting to keep this as quick as possible. “What have you got for us?”</p><p> </p><p>“He made contact on Saturday. Came home with groceries and he was waiting for me inside the apartment.”</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy’s blood ran cold. “How did he-”</p><p> </p><p>“Slipped the doorman a Benjamin.” She read his concern before he could respond. “I’m fine, Bellamy. He’s had me running errands for him all weekend, working my way back up.”</p><p> </p><p>“Anything we can use?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, just little things, nothing that’ll stick. But he wants to see me tomorrow, and I think I can plant a bug in his office. If all goes well, I’ll mention you then.”</p><p> </p><p>He pursed his lips, considering. “You sure it’s not too risky?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s all under control. Hey, are those new jeans? Your ass looks great.”</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy choked on his coffee, barely recovering in time to turn and see a blonde woman run past with a satisfied smirk on her face. “Careful, Griffin, we don’t want to get HR involved. Again.”</p><p> </p><p>He heard her laugh over the phone, no doubt remembering the time one of the officers from another department heard their banter and forced the entire unit to sit in to a workplace sexual harassment seminar. As mortified as he and Clarke were, he was pretty sure it was the best day of Murphy’s life.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, we’ll send you a hidden camera to place in his office, just make sure to hide it well. Look out for a parcel at the apartment this evening, and don’t be a stranger. Use your burner if you hear any news, or even if you just want to talk. We miss you, Clarke.”</p><p> </p><p>“Will do. Thanks, Bellamy. I miss you too.” The line went dead.</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy took another sip of his coffee and watched her figure get smaller and smaller in the distance as she ran further away, and wished he could be there with her.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>-</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Clarke called Bellamy’s burner at noon the next day, letting him know she got the bug and was on her way to McCreary’s office at Second Dawn. McCreary had a very strict policy of no one being allowed in his office alone for that very reason - to avoid being recorded - so Bellamy and Raven were parked up in the van outside the club, waiting for the camera to become active. A few of the team were scattered around the place too, Murphy parked around the corner in an unmarked car, and Miller and Monty on foot in the area. None of that did anything to ease his nerves, though, as he watched Clarke walk in twenty minutes early to her meeting. Provided she could get into his office without being stopped, that would have been plenty of time to find a good place to put the bug, had McCreary not pulled up in his BMW five minutes after Clarke went inside.</p><p> </p><p>Raven must have felt him start to get up beside her, because she placed a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, easy, you can’t go in there - you’ll blow her cover. We can still warn her, but we’ve got to do it the right way.”</p><p> </p><p>She motioned to his burner, sitting on the shelf that held the computer screens. He grabbed it, typing out a message that would appear innocuous to anyone else reading it, but contained a coded message: <em> My brother’s coming round for lunch, he just got here. You coming? </em></p><p> </p><p>He hoped Clarke would read between the lines.</p><p> </p><p>By the time he’d sent the text, McCreary was already inside, and he prayed she understood the meaning to hurry the hell up or get out of there, when his phone buzzed with a message. <em> Already eaten. Enjoy. </em></p><p> </p><p>He breathed out a sigh of relief as the monitors crackled to life in time for them to see Clarke jump down from McCreary’s desk and dust it off, putting any stray papers back where they were before darting into a side room mere seconds before McCreary walked in. They saw the room from a bird’s eye view; she must have placed the camera on a light fitting, and they got confirmation the sound worked when they heard a toilet flush.</p><p> </p><p>Clarke walked back into frame, shaking the last drops of water off her hands as McCreary watched her with a lethal stare. “What are you doing in my office?”</p><p> </p><p>“You said you wanted to see me.”</p><p> </p><p>His voice lowered into a menacing baritone, stalking closer to Clarke. “I <em> mean </em> , what are you doing in my office <em> alone </em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“Emergency,” she breathed. “Needed to change my tampon.”</p><p> </p><p>As she spoke, he looked around the room until his gaze fixed on the desk. He pointed to it. “Did you touch my desk?”</p><p> </p><p>“No.” She said quietly but firmly as he moved towards her, walking backwards until she hit the wall.</p><p> </p><p>“I <em> SAID </em>,” he roared, slamming one hand onto the wall next to Clarke’s head. “DID YOU TOUCH MY DESK?”</p><p> </p><p>“No! I swear!” She matched his volume.</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy’s leg started bouncing, adrenaline shooting through his veins. “We should go in.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>No, we shouldn’t. </em>” Raven gritted out. “Clarke’s got this, just let it play out.”</p><p> </p><p>They both focused their attention back on the screen just in time to see McCreary flip Clarke around and slam her face first into the wall, hard enough that she cried out in pain or surprise. Bellamy shifted in his seat, but Raven clamped a hand on his thigh, and the message was clear enough - <em> you’re not going anywhere </em>.</p><p> </p><p>“You remember this?” McCreary snarled into her ear as he yanked her hair up with one hand, the other tracing the tattoo at the nape of her neck. “This means you’re mine. And that means you follow my rules. So when I tell you not to go into my office without me <em> no matter what </em>, you listen, you hear me?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” Clarke panted, barely audible over the bug. ”I’m sorry.” But from where she was standing, still up against the wall, she couldn’t see McCreary reach for the knife in his waistband. Bellamy could.</p><p> </p><p>He heard Clarke’s phone buzz the moment he pushed the call button. McCreary’s hand moved away from the knife and into Clarke’s pocket, answering her phone. “What?” He ground out.</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy tried to sound surprised. “Uh… I’m looking for Hailey?”</p><p> </p><p>“Hailey’s busy right now.”</p><p> </p><p>He listened to the ragged breathing on the other line for a moment before continuing. “Okay, could you tell her Jay called? I have something I want to run by her.”</p><p> </p><p>McCreary paused, but didn’t answer before ending the call and stepping away from Clarke. Over the bug, they heard him speak. “Who’s Jay?”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>-</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“One more time.” Clarke said as Bellamy turned off the engine, and as the headlights shut down, they were left staring out into the black night ahead.</p><p> </p><p>He groaned. “Really, Clarke?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m serious!” Panic flared in her eyes before she masked it, calming herself down. “McCreary doesn’t mess around, you have to know this better than your own life story.”</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy chewed the inside of his cheek, running through the details of his cover again in his mind. After the confrontation in his office, Clarke had talked McCreary into agreeing to meet Bellamy to talk about the deal. They had just pulled up to Second Dawn in an undercover car, and Clarke had been getting antsier by the minute. Monty had already hammered him with details and given him a wallet with everything he needed, but Clarke was starting to remind him of the drill sergeants back in basic training. He took a deep breath, then rattled off the facts. “We went to high school together in Polis. Arkadia Central. We-”</p><p> </p><p>“Home of the?” she cut him off, prompting him for the football team mascot.</p><p> </p><p>“Seriously?” Her glare was answer enough. He sighed. “The Mountain Lions. Clarke, he’s not gonna know any of this shit anyway, but even if he did, I’ve got it. Can we please go in now?”</p><p> </p><p>She gave him a long look, biting her lip ever so slightly, before she nodded and stepped out of the car. He followed suit, pocketing the keys and catching up to her before they reached the door. McCreary and Emerson were waiting for them there, smoking a cigarette. When he heard them approach, McCreary stamped his out with his boot.</p><p> </p><p>Clarke reached for the door handle, but McCreary stopped her. “Uh-uh, you wait out here. Just the men this time.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?” She looked between them and Bellamy. “That wasn’t the plan, I’m coming with you.”</p><p> </p><p>“No you’re not. I don’t know this guy, I want to talk to him alone.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s okay Hails, I’ll go. It’s just a talk. Wait outside, we’ll be back in no time.” Bellamy squeezed her shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>McCreary’s eyes burned a hole in Bellamy’s hand. “Hailey, why don’t you and I go to dinner once the deal is done? Celebrate our partnership. I’m sure this’ll be the beginning of something real special.”</p><p> </p><p>There was a threat in there somewhere, and an attempt to stake his claim on her. If she wanted this deal to continue, Clarke didn’t have much of a choice but to agree. “Sure,” she nodded. “Let’s work it out sometime.”</p><p> </p><p>His eyes flitted back to Bellamy, a subtle brag in his features, before he nodded towards the door, gesturing for Bellamy to go in. Swallowing his trepidation, he allowed himself to be flanked by Emerson as McCreary led them in. The club was a liminal space without the noise and crowds of a business night, and the dimly lit corridors towards his office looked like something out of a scary movie. Bellamy’s stomach turned when he mentally scanned the floor plan Clarke had explained, and realised wherever it was McCreary was taking him, it wasn’t to his office.</p><p> </p><p>“Where’re we going?” He hoped he sounded casual.</p><p> </p><p>McCreary stopped by a door to his right, opening it to total darkness until he pulled on a string light. Flickering into vision was a flight of stairs down to the basement. Alarm bells went off in his head, and he was ready to talk again when McCreary beat him to it. “Somewhere quiet. Good spot for a conversation.”</p><p> </p><p>He eyed the staircase, still unable to see the bottom. “Or we could just talk right here.” </p><p> </p><p>McCreary cocked a pistol at him, gesturing for him to go down the stairs. He cursed himself for not wearing a wire, but Clarke was smart. If he didn’t come out soon, she’d know what to do. Politely, he raised his hands to show he wasn’t reaching for a weapon, and let McCreary guide him to the basement.</p><p> </p><p>More lights illuminated their surroundings as they descended, activated by their motion. The soft whir of a generator filled his ears, and the chill from the concrete room leeched every last tendril of warmth from his skin. He forced himself not to shiver, and hoped they couldn’t see his goosebumps. At the bottom of the staircase, the basement was split into two rooms, divided by a metal-fenced cage that looked like some kind of interrogation chamber. He cast a wary eye to McCreary and the gun as Emerson opened the gate and motioned for Bellamy to move inside. The two men followed him in, patting him down. Once they were satisfied he wasn’t wearing a wire or carrying a weapon, Emerson took his wallet from the pocket of his jeans and McCreary spoke. “Take a seat, James.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s just Jay,” Bellamy said, but he did sit on the cold metal chair in the centre of the room. He thanked god for Monty’s thoroughness as McCreary flipped through the various ID cards and pocket litter he’d provided. His gratefulness faded fast though, when McCreary raised an eyebrow at the condom he found there. Bellamy barely hid a wince.</p><p> </p><p>“Jay Halstead.” He held up the drivers’ licence. “When’s your birthday?”</p><p> </p><p>“June 18th.” Easy enough, he’d memorised more than that trying to buy beer in college.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s your sign?”</p><p> </p><p>“You trying to ask me out?” Bellamy’s attempt at a joke only made McCreary stare him down, the generator hum the only sound in the room. He cleared his throat. “Gemini.”</p><p> </p><p>McCreary threw him the wallet and paced towards the silver table, leaning against it for support. “You met Hailey in college?”</p><p> </p><p>“High school. Arkadia Central.”</p><p> </p><p>“Huh. Your mascot was an Eagle?”</p><p> </p><p>“We were the Mountain Lions, actually.” He made a mental note to thank Clarke for the study session after all.</p><p> </p><p>He gave him what he thought might have been an approving nod, test passed, before pushing off and walking to the fence. Then, he turned back to Bellamy again. “One last question.” Of course, he wouldn’t get off that easy. “How many times have you fucked her?”</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy damn near broke the sound barrier whipping his head around to McCreary. “Excuse me?”</p><p> </p><p>“Answer the question.”</p><p> </p><p>“No, screw this, I’m not doing this.” He stood, the metal chair shrieking against the concrete floor as he pushed it back, his fear evaporating and turning to anger. “When you’re ready to talk business, you know how to find me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Who do you think I am? You think I’m some small town dealer getting college kids high on a Friday night? Take a look around.” He gestured vaguely to the dank cellar. The chains hanging from the ceiling rattled on a phantom breeze, and Emerson leaned meaningfully against the worktable with the toolbox. Something told Bellamy it wasn’t for DIY. McCreary rounded on him fast, getting in his face. Bellamy didn’t back down, setting his jaw as he got closer.</p><p> </p><p>“Get your hand off me.” Bellamy swiped McCreary’s hand away before he could shove him in the chest.</p><p> </p><p>“How many times?”</p><p> </p><p>A muscle flickered in his jaw, but he willed himself to keep the rage off his face, until all that stared back at McCreary was stone. “None.”</p><p> </p><p>In the silence that followed, McCreary studied Bellamy’s face with narrowed eyes, his lip curling. Whatever flicker of doubt he was looking for, he seemed to find it. “Deal’s off.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>picking right up where we left off after bellamy's confrontation with mccreary!</p>
<p>a big thank you to vancouver sleep clinic for getting me through writing the end of the chapter (especially ayahuasca, middle of nowhere, and lung)</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>ahhhh!!! thank you all so much for your lovely comments, they really mean the world. and thank you for your patience, i've been reworking it a little and brainstorming how to expand the plot, so this is going to have a couple more chapters to satisfy all your cop au needs. i hope you like it!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The journey back to Clarke’s apartment happened in dead silence, right up until the moment the door shut behind them. The rage that had been burning through his blood in that cellar had been simmering, the heat emanating from his skin so hot Clarke already looked like she was about to apologise. Bellamy didn’t give her the chance. “You have some </span>
  <em>
    <span>serious</span>
  </em>
  <span> explaining to do, Clarke. You need to tell me what the hell happened back there, and then we’re both going to see Kane to shut this whole thing down.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Bellamy, I don’t-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His temper flared, tasting the lie before it came out of her mouth. “No, </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> tell me that you don’t know, or feed me some bullshit lie, because this is fucking serious, Clarke!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Keep your voice down!” She urged.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He took a breath, lowering the volume a bit, but still charging every word with the emotions turning his insides hazy. “We’re talking about your </span>
  <em>
    <span>safety,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Clarke! Mine too - if I had said we’d slept together I don’t think I’d have come out of that building alive. Do you understand what I’m saying? He was more interested in whether or not I’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>slept</span>
  </em>
  <span> with you than he was in making a five figure deal. It’s like he’s obsessed with you. There’s something you’re not telling me, and this thing we have, Clarke? This partnership? It doesn’t work unless we </span>
  <em>
    <span>talk</span>
  </em>
  <span> to each other.” Clarke’s eyes reddened, and she looked like she might cry. Guilt softened his features, and he slowed down his pounding heart until it reached a steady, even beat. “Please, just tell me what happened the last time you went under.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing happened, Bellamy, I can handle this.” She doubled down.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He threw his head up to the sky, groaning. “Clarke, if you’re gonna lie, at least put some effort into it. For me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clarke studied him, the seriousness in his eyes, seeming to weigh whether or not she trusted him with the truth. Shutting her eyes in what looked like defeat, it took her a moment to sort through her thoughts and all of the emotions attached to them. Then, she loosed a shaky breath and stepped away, rifling through the sparse cupboards in the kitchen until she pulled out a glass and some bourbon. She fiddled with the cap, but her hands were shaking so much that she could barely open it - that was the last straw before Bellamy’s anger shattered completely.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Here,” he said softly, placing his hand over hers from the other side of the thin island. “Let me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She steadied her breathing while he poured her a small glass and she took a long swig, not flinching as it went down. For a moment she just stood there, pressing her lips into a thin line while she worked up the courage to speak. Then, finally, she told him. “Cage had a system. Any new starters had to work their way up the ranks through one of his three most trusted men - I drew McCreary. I had to work with him a lot, but not just doing deals and moving the drugs. He made me come with him to enforce the rules. I had to - I had to watch him kill. Torture. And I had to do it with a straight face.” She wiped her eyes. “He liked having me around. I guess there weren’t many women that came through, especially to the higher levels like I did. He even made me get the tattoo, to prove my loyalty. I think it was after that that he started to hit on me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bellamy froze.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I never encouraged it, always turned him down, redirected our focus to business, but he convinced himself he loved me. Or - he loved </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hailey</span>
  </em>
  <span>, at least. I think he still feels like he owns me.” For the first time since she started speaking, she looked at Bellamy. Taking in the steel in his expression, the clenched fists, she backpedaled. “I’m okay, Bellamy, I managed. I know you’re worried, but we can use this - he’s new to the position, he’s vulnerable and he needs buyers. If we can leverage the way he feels, then we can set up the deal and-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The deal?” That fire burned bright in his veins again. “Clarke, there is no deal - the deal is dead. Even if it wasn’t, I’d be calling it off right now. I appreciate you trusting me with this, but I am not putting you in that position again, it’s way too dangerous! You’d do the same thing in a second if the roles were reversed - you </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> that.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Bell, please, I can still do this!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I said no. Now we’re going back to the station and telling Kane what happened.” The finality must have struck home, because Clarke’s expression crumpled once more. The sadness on her face cracked a fracture in his chest, and even though he was royally pissed off with her, he walked over to her and wrapped her in his arms. He felt her hands connect behind his back, and he buried his face in her hair, the smell of vanilla, amber and musk calming him instantly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” she murmured from somewhere in his shoulder. “But can we just wait one day before we tell Kane? I just… I think I need to rest.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Whatever was left of his heart shattered at the plea in her voice. He sighed into her, placing a gentle kiss at the top of her head. “Okay. One day.” They stayed like that for another minute or maybe an hour - Bellamy couldn’t tell, but when they broke apart, Clarke looked so utterly exhausted that he guided her straight to the bed and set her down still in today’s clothes, not bothering to make her change into pyjamas. By the time he set himself up on the couch, Clarke was already snoring softly, and Bellamy settled in for an uncomfortable sleep, the night’s events still swimming in his head.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Drifting in and out of consciousness for the next six hours, he eventually gave up on sleep altogether and sat with his head in his hands, thinking until the sun filtered through the broken blinds. He might have agreed to give Clarke a day before talking to Kane, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t do some work on his own in the meantime. And as much as Clarke had told him about McCreary, he knew her as well as he knew himself - and he could tell when she was hiding something. With a quick glance at the clock - </span>
  <em>
    <span>07:08</span>
  </em>
  <span> - he silently grabbed his things and left the apartment. He had some calls to make.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By lunch time, Bellamy was walking into a coffee shop he’d never been to before. A little far out of his usual route, but even so, the prices would have been prohibitive for him anyway. Being in Kane’s unit paid well, of course, they were considered the most elite team in the CPD, but Bellamy didn’t grow up with money, and even now it was reflex to spend as little as possible. He still felt out of place somewhere like this, filled with customers in suits or designer clothes, but only one person bothered to look his way as he walked in.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He made a beeline for the table, recognising him straight away from photos in the vice file and in Clarke’s own apartment. “Wells Jaha?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The man wiped his mouth with a napkin, cleaning away the remnants of his lunch before standing and shaking his hand. “You must be Bellamy Blake.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You’re Clarke’s old partner?” Wells nodded, and Bellamy sat down opposite him. “Thank you for meeting me on such short notice.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I should be thanking </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, if anyone can get through to Clarke it’s her partner.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bellamy furrowed his brows. “You talked to her recently?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tried to talk her </span>
  <em>
    <span>out</span>
  </em>
  <span> of something, more like. She got in touch with me a while ago, let me know she was going back undercover - digging up the old Hailey identity.” Wells’ eyes darkened a shade, drifting away from Bellamy and off somewhere in the distance. “I told her it was a bad idea, but she wouldn’t listen. She barely made it out last time, but it’s like she doesn’t even care.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His stomach dropped. “Barely made it out? What are you talking about?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Well’s eyes snapped back to Bellamy, surprise and hesitation flashing on his face. “She didn’t tell you? I don’t know if I should…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Wells,” Bellamy reached over and put a hand on his wrist, light enough that it wouldn’t hurt, but just enough pressure to show reassurance. “She’s my partner. If you know something that’s putting her in danger, I need to know. Please.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The way Wells stared at him, it was like he was looking </span>
  <em>
    <span>through</span>
  </em>
  <span> him. Analysing him, as if he could read his intentions with a glance, weighing the pros and cons of giving him the knowledge he had. After a long moment, something in his face softened, and he nodded. “Did she tell you what happened the night of the arrest?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bellamy withdrew his hand, sitting back in his chair. “No, she told me she wasn’t involved in that.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Goddammit, Clarke,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Wells muttered, rubbing his temples. He made a sound between a sigh and a groan before explaining. “That night, Cage was having a party with all the key players in the business - a celebration of sorts, for becoming the city’s biggest supplier. Clarke was there too. She was supposed to confirm all our high priority targets were in the building before we moved in. Once she gave the signal, we were supposed to break down the doors and scoop everyone up, including her, to keep her cover intact. She found Cage and his father, Dante, but McCreary wasn’t with everyone else. She went off into the back rooms looking for him, and...” He trailed off, and Bellamy had to put his hand on his chin to stop himself from interrupting, prompting for more. “McCreary was drunk. He always had a thing for Clarke, and - Bellamy, it happened so fast.” At those words, the pain in Wells’ voice, Bellamy’s chest caved in.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What happened?” He croaked.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m guessing she left out her medical report when she gave you the file on the op?” Wells asked, and a shake of Bellamy’s head was answer enough as Wells dug something out of his briefcase. “Here.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The file landed on the table in front of Bellamy, and as desperately as he needed to know what happened, he suddenly found himself frozen. His hands wouldn’t move when he asked them to, staying planted firmly by his side. He could feel Wells’ eyes on him, waiting for him to make a move, until eventually, his instinct to protect Clarke won out. He pulled the file towards him, and opened it to the first page.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As soon as he set eyes on the document, he winced and looked away. The first thing in the file was a collection of photographs clipped to the pages, showing the extensive bruising on Clarke’s face. She had a black eye, blood from cuts and scratches grazing her face, and finger marks on her neck and arms. He skimmed over the medical notes detailing her injuries, but he couldn’t stomach looking at it for very long, the words washing over him like a wave, dragging themselves back out of his mind the moment his eyes moved away. Whether it was to protect himself or to save some semblance of Clarke’s privacy, he barely took any of it in. No, Clarke </span>
  <em>
    <span>hadn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>included that document when she shared the files. If he or Kane had any inkling something like this happened last time, there’d be no way either of them let her go under again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He slammed the file shut. “What is this, Wells?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“When we heard what was happening over her wire, we were forced to breach early. The rest of our team only managed to get Cage and Dante, but I went straight for Clarke. I pulled him off her before he could - before it got too bad. Gave him a nasty black eye, but he escaped. I didn’t even care at the time, there was so much blood, and I just wanted to get her to a hospital, but now I wish I could’ve got to him.” He clenched his fists, and Bellamy could see his nails digging into his palms. “I should’ve killed him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clarke wasn’t answering her phone.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’d gone back to the apartment straight away, taking the medical report with him, wanting to give Clarke the chance to explain herself again before he showed her what he already knew. But he’d found the bed empty, neatly made, Clarke nowhere to be found. And now he had no idea where she was.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dread pooled in his gut, even more so now knowing what had happened between her and McCreary, and he used his burner to call the only person he could think of.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Monty answered on the first ring. “Yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Has Clarke checked in with anyone? Do you know where she is?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, no, I- isn’t she with you? Aren’t you waiting to hear back from McCreary after the meet last night?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Look, Monty, between you and me, I’m worried about her, and she’s not answering her phone. I’ve got a really bad feeling and I think she could be in danger. Can you just… can you help me? Please?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, let me just-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And Monty,” He interrupted. “Don’t tell Kane.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He must have heard the distress in his voice, because he lowered his own into a calming tone. “Okay, okay, I’ll track her phone, just give me a minute.” The sound of the keyboard clicking echoed down the phone, and Bellamy paced while he waited. “Got her - </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Stay calm, relax, just…” He took a breath, and the sounds of the busy office filled the silence. Phones rang in the background, distorted conversations and coffee machines whirred until Monty spoke again one last time before he ended the call. “I’m gonna get the van. Take the undercover car, meet me outside Second Dawn. Be there in ten.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bellamy was there in five.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As soon as the van pulled up, he got out of the car and met Monty inside, just as he was linking up the monitors to the bug in McCreary’s office.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s okay,” Monty said as the screen flickered to life, the image of Clarke and McCreary talking coming into view. “She’s alright.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The adrenaline pumping through his body slowed at the sight of her unharmed, but he was still on edge. He fiddled with the monitor, trying to get the sound working, but Monty was already on it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I talked to Jay,” Clarke’s voice filled the van. “He told me you went a little crazy on him last night.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>McCreary rubbed his chin, voice low and lethal. “I don’t trust him.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>do. Known him half my life. Know his wife, too.” Clarke stepped closer to McCreary. “He’s been married for… four, maybe five years. She’s a sweet girl. He’s just trying to make enough money to give her the life she deserves.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That made McCreary pause. As angry as he was with her right now, Bellamy had to admit Clarke knew what she was doing. Knew exactly how to play him. “He’s married?” When Clarke nodded, he grumbled. “Doesn’t act like it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Paxton,” Clarke perched on the desk next to where he sat. “If you really don’t trust him, we won’t do the deal. But I think this will be good for all of us.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>McCreary leaned back, considering. “If I do this, maybe you and I could… spend some more time together.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That could be nice.” She said, and if Bellamy didn’t know her, he might have believed she was being sincere. When McCreary took her hand, though, Bellamy shot out of the chair.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, that’s enough,” He said to Monty. “I’m going in.” Ignoring his protests, Bellamy got out of the van and went back to the car, pulling it up right outside the club where he knew McCreary had cameras sending a live feed directly to his desk. It took less than a minute for him to come outside, Clarke right behind him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The hell are you doing here?” He asked, as Bellamy got out of the car and went straight to the trunk. “The hell is he doing here, Hailey?” When neither of them answered, he pulled out his gun and pointed it at Bellamy, letting him hear the hammer pull back. “Give me one good reason not to kill you where you stand.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bellamy stopped, keeping his hands on the trunk when he looked at McCreary. “How about 25,000 reasons?” Savouring the look of surprise on his face, Bellamy popped open the trunk and let him see the bags of cash inside that Kane had authorised him to take in case the deal got approved last night. “Hailey called me, told me she was coming down here to get our deal back on track.” He briefly shot Clarke a warning glare before refocusing on McCreary. “Consider it a down payment in good faith.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Put the gun away, Pax.” Clarke touched his arm, and he lowered his weapon.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>McCreary huffed, leaning into the trunk to examine the cash. “Let’s take this inside, we’ll work out someplace to do the deal.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What the hell was that?” Bellamy yelled, slamming shut the thin door. “You went in there alone, without telling me? Telling anyone? You could’ve gotten yourself killed.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She whirled on him, tossing the apartment keys to the side with such force they went skidding over the kitchen island. “I was getting the deal back on track. You’re welcome.” The venom in her voice surprised him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Believe it or not, Clarke, I am trying to protect you here.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Danger is part of the job, Bellamy, I don’t need </span>
  <em>
    <span>protection</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” She spat. “I need a partner who trusts me!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Trust?” He barked out a short, dark laugh. “Where was your trust in me when you lied to my face last night?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clarke scoffed, turning away from him to go pick up the keys. On her way to stand up, eye level with the kitchen island, she froze.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Shit. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In his rush to get to Clarke, he’d left the medical report on the countertop.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You went to Wells.” Now, Clarke was the one on the attack. “You went to Wells, behind my back!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> to if my partner had been honest with me from the start!” In all the months they’d been partners, they had never fought like this before. Not even once. This partnership between them had been the easiest and most natural Bellamy had ever had, including his time with Murphy. He and Clarke had trusted each other from day one, watching each other’s backs, two minds operating as one whenever they were out in the field. But this… this was different. Something about being apart had changed things, threatened to rip the threads that tied them together. The pain in Bellamy’s chest begged him to stop, to patch things up now before their bond snapped irreparably, and he couldn’t keep the emotion out of his voice as he caught his breath. “You could have </span>
  <em>
    <span>died</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Clarke. And if I couldn’t get to you, I would have lost my mind. Please, if this is about revenge, it’s not worth it. We can still pull you out.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clarke’s face lost its heat. “It’s not about revenge.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Then what is it?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She sank into one of the kitchen stools, resting her elbows on the island, and played with the old fraying watch on her wrist, overdue for a repair job on the leather strap - it was the one piece of her identity that she kept when she went undercover, a tether to her real self. Kane had been the one to suggest it. He knew first-hand how easy it was to lose who you are on jobs like these. Spend long enough pretending to be someone else, and you start to believe it. An item like this helped you find your way back. “My dad was a cop, too. Bravest man I ever knew. When I was a kid, he used to take me down to the station with him sometimes. I was always ‘Jake Griffin’s daughter’, you know? Everyone knew him, everyone loved him. And when I turned 13, he gave me this watch. Said his dad gave it to him when he turned 13, and I could do the same for my kid. He was supposed to come to my birthday party the next day, but he didn’t show. Turns out he responded to a bank robbery in progress on his way home, but he, uh,” Clarke’s throat closed up with emotion, as if it was trying to choke back the words. She took a moment before she went on. “He saved three people. And he died a hero.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Clarke, I don’t know what to…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She shook her head. “You don’t have to say anything, I’ve heard enough apologies. I’ll always be grateful I had him for as long as I did, and sad that I didn’t have him for longer. I’ve made my peace with that. Every now and then I run into someone who recognises me - ‘Jake Griffin’s daughter’, and tells me a story about him. But I just feel like I’m not doing enough, you know? Like I’m not living up to the cop that he was - that he thought I’d be. And with my mom as the commissioner, I see the way some people look at me when I walk up to our office - like I don’t deserve it, like I didn’t earn this spot.” She welled up. “And maybe I didn’t, right? Maybe my mom </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> pull some strings to get me here, I don’t-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Clarke.” He interrupted when she started spiralling. “First of all, if you think for one second that Kane would hire anybody that didn’t deserve to be doing this job, you’ve got another thing coming. Second, whoever those looks are coming from, they’re not coming from anybody that matters. This team matters. This family matters. And you are a part of that family. Have been from the moment you stepped through the door. And finally, I’m sorry that I never met your father, he sounds like a great man. But I don’t need to meet him to know that if he could see you, he would be damn proud of the person you’ve become. Okay? So don’t do that, don’t think that you didn’t earn your place here.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clarke’s lip wavered a little, doubt swimming in her eyes, but she nodded, reaching out for his hand. He took it, interlacing their fingers. “Are we good?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“If you say we’re good, then we’re good.” Bellamy said. “Are you sure you want to do this?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. I’m sure.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He squeezed her hand. “Okay. Let’s tell Kane we’re on.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Locations could either make or break a sting. They had to be on neutral ground, so neither side could claim the other was tipping the scales in their favour. No guns was always a solid rule, but there were no guarantees either party would show up without packing some kind of heat. Criminals played by their own rules, none more so than Paxton McCreary. The negotiations had taken a while, but they managed to come to a decision that worked for both their purposes: a nearly-empty parking garage downtown in the slower hours of the evening. For McCreary, it meant a quick exit if he needed to; easy to hop in a car and drive off in any number of directions, turning corners around the blocks to lose a tail. And for Clarke and Bellamy, standing next to their undercover car under the yellowed lights, it meant surveillance cameras, and a front row seat to the action for their team.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The rest of their unit had staggered their arrival over the past couple of hours, checking the place out and picking the best spots for their cars, and Bellamy knew where each one of them was without having to look. The van was the most obvious of the vehicles, so that was tucked behind one of the pillars slightly out of the way and one level up, still with a partial view of the two of them as they waited for McCreary to show. Kane would watch the action from his Jeep a few cars over, lights off, in black clothes so as not to stand out. Raven and Murphy were on the other side of the lot, and Miller and Monty covered the main exit in case McCreary tried to run for it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As cool as she appeared on the outside, Bellamy could tell Clarke was nervous. The shivers could have been attributed to the chill in the air around them, but she was shifting on her feet ever so slightly more often than usual. Given her history with this case, he didn’t want to risk those nerves causing any problems, and since only one of them needed to be wired for this, Bellamy volunteered. He knew Kane was on edge, too. Their boss never liked putting any of them in the firing line, but he’d built up a reputation himself on undercover jobs over the years. Even if his role as supervisor allowed him to go undercover now, he couldn’t. Not on the big jobs anyway; too many of the major players knew his face. But his fierce protectiveness of the team meant he’d kept the rest of their pictures out of the paper. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He blew into his hands and rubbed them together, trying to encourage some warmth into them, as he remembered the phone call he’d had with Kane to set up the op.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Kane had let him say his piece, detailing the specifics of where and when it would go down and the kind of manpower they’d need to pull it off. If it wasn’t for the scratching of his pen as he wrote it down, Bellamy might think he wasn’t paying attention at all from the silence on the end of the phone. Even after he stopped talking, Kane had let that silence hang there. He knew Kane would be in his office, door shut behind him, and he could picture the man leaning against the bookshelves behind his desk, stroking his beard with his brows wrinkled like he did when he was thinking. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m worried about Clarke,</span>
  </em>
  <span> was all he said when he spoke.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Me too.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Bellamy had replied. </span>
  <em>
    <span>McCreary’s… dangerous. But Clarke’s got a handle on it. I’m sure of it.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That silence again, piercing right through him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>If you’re sure. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Something told Bellamy that that silence went on in Kane’s office long after the line went dead.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pulling him back to the present, the small piece in his ear crackled with a message from Miller. A truck had just entered the structure - the deal was on. He shot her a small smile. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Almost over. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She returned it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Almost over.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tires squealed on the concrete as the truck turned through the lot, coming to a stop in front of them. Bellamy pushed off the hood he’d been leaning on as McCreary got out of the driver’s seat and Emerson followed suit, though he hung back by the bed of the truck, standing by the sealed crate inside it. That had to be the heroin.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As Clarke stepped towards McCreary to greet him, Bellamy moved for the trunk. She made small talk with him as Bellamy fished out the rest of the cash they’d agreed on. He pulled out the bag, unzipping it as he walked over to join them. “It’s all there,” he showed him the contents, wanting to get this done as fast as possible. He just needed to see the drugs, and then the team could swoop in. Until then, though, they were stuck. No proof of a crime just yet. “Count it if you want.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>McCreary sized him up, but took the bag without checking the cash and threw it in the open window of his truck. That was about as close to trust as Bellamy would get out of him. Then, McCreary returned his attention to Clarke. “Let’s get dinner tonight. Celebrate.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She offered him a smile. “Yeah, sure.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay then, let’s see the product.” Eager to keep things moving and to keep McCreary at bay, Bellamy started towards Emerson, who straightened up and crossed his arms.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Not so fast,” McCreary called from behind. “We’ve just got to check a few things first.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Things like what?” Bellamy’s jaw ticked, impatient.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Like wires.” In an instant, McCreary had grabbed Clarke and pinned her face first to his truck while he patted her down. Instinctively, Bellamy found himself moving closer. A warning look from McCreary told him to keep his distance, but the look on Clarke’s face, the pulse jumping in her throat, kept him rooted to the spot, even as McCreary stared him down.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As his stare held and his hands kept moving, skimming Clarke’s clothes, Bellamy realised what this was. This wasn’t a wire search, it was a power play. The challenge in McCreary’s eyes was clear: </span>
  <em>
    <span>what are you going to do about it?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s good,” Bellamy ground out. “That’s enough.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clarke’s eyes slammed shut as McCreary stilled for a moment, but not in acceptance. In thinly-veiled rage. Wrong thing to say, Bellamy realised, as those hands started moving again, rougher, harder, Clarke’s breath hitching in her throat as they hit places no wires would be.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He tried to sound calm, though his blood was beginning to boil. “Come on, you don’t have to do it like that.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The protest only emboldened him, and as McCreary’s hand moved to Clarke’s waistband and she gasped, Bellamy’s own hand twitched towards his-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Gun!” Emerson shouted, launching at Bellamy.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In the chaos that followed, Bellamy had enough time to see Clarke knock McCreary off her and reach for the ankle holster hidden by her boot before Emerson tackled him, sending the gun clattering across the floor as Emerson pounded his fists into Bellamy’s face. He went for Emerson’s eyes, pushing his thumb in far enough to make him ease off before he flipped him over and hit him back just as Kane ran to his side.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Blake! Ease off, cuff him.” The authoritative tone hit home, and Bellamy listened, taking the cuffs Kane offered and clicking them around Emerson’s wrists as the team moved to seal off the exits. “You good?” Kane assessed him for injuries, noticing the blood on his shirt, and Bellamy nodded.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll never spend a day behind bars, you hear me?” Emerson writhed underneath him, spitting blood. “I know people.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Kane paced to Emerson’s head. “You hear that, Blake? He knows people.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, well in that case we should let him go.” He quipped, earning a grin from Kane, but that wasn’t the face he was looking for. Whipping his head around the lot, he searched for Clarke. Panic filled him when neither she nor McCreary were in sight. He’d lost them. In the fighting, he’d lost her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The echo of a woman’s pained shout sounded from his right, past the truck, and his eyes landed on the door to the east stairwell. “Clarke,” he breathed, already standing up. She must have chased McCreary as he bolted for the exit. “You got him?” he asked Kane, pointing to Emerson, and barely gave him enough time to nod and chuck him an extra set of cuffs before Bellamy raced to find his partner.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The lot seemed to stretch on for miles as the sounds of fighting continued from behind the stairwell door, but by the time he was a few feet away, all the sounds had stopped. Bellamy’s blood ran cold, one hand twisting the doorknob while the other held his gun, and he slammed it open to find Clarke straddling a bloodied, dazed McCreary, her gun inches from his face.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He put his gun back in his waistband, moving slowly, carefully towards her as if she was a predator about to attack her prey. “Clarke,” He put a hand on her shoulder, feeling her chest heave with her ragged breathing, but she didn’t give any indication she noticed him. “Clarke, put the gun down.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She cocked the hammer back, and McCreary smiled as he panted, streaks of red lining the gaps between his teeth.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Clarke, he wants you to do it. He wins if you kill him.” From the careful stare that earned from McCreary, Bellamy knew he was right. “I know you want to see him suffer, I do too, but there are other ways to do this. He wants an easy way out. Don’t give him that, don’t let him end this on his terms.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>For a tense few seconds, Clarke kept the gun trained on his head. But slowly, Bellamy’s words sank in. She pushed the hammer back in and stood up, keeping her eyes locked onto McCreary as if he’d vanish the moment she looked away. Gun now safely in the waistband of her jeans, she spoke. “Do you want it?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bellamy knew what she was talking about. “No, he’s all yours.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He handed her the cuffs Kane had thrown him and watched as she turned McCreary over, slipped them on a little too tightly to be comfortable, and read him his rights just as Murphy and Raven burst through the door.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You okay, Clarke?” Raven asked, careful eyes watching her friend as she hauled McCreary up from the ground.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It took her a moment, but the corner of her mouth lifted in a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Never better.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay then,” Murphy pushed forwards from behind Raven and took McCreary out of Clarke’s hands. “Come on, McCreepy, let’s get your ass to the station before I change my mind about letting you live.” At that, Clarke’s head snapped up in surprise. “What?” Murphy asked innocently. “He hurt my family. That’s not something I forget about in a hurry.” Then, he leaned in to Clarke a little closer. “If you want me to rough him up a little on the way just say the word.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She rolled her eyes, but this time, her smile was genuine. “I’m good, Murphy. Thanks, though.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He shrugged as he walked away. “Okay, have it your way. Wouldn’t kill you to break a rule every once in a while but hey, to each their own, Princess.” Clarke scoffed as Murphy threw back a wink, ducking McCreary’s head into the back of their car while Monty and Miller dealt with Emerson.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bellamy strolled up to where Clarke was leaning against the doorway and found a spot next to her. “Ignore Murphy. He’s a menace to society.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s family,” Clarke said, sliding a glance to Bellamy. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>We’re</span>
  </em>
  <span> family.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Told you so.” He nudged her with his elbow.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After a moment, she cleared her throat a little, voice hoarse. “It’s really over?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Bellamy turned to her. “It’s really over.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Before he could process her movements, he found Clarke’s arms wrapped around his sides, face buried under his shoulder as she gripped him in a hug that said everything they couldn’t find the words to say out loud. He gathered her up in his arms, letting her rest there for as long as she needed, listening to the heartbeat in his chest, until Kane’s voice echoed through the parking lot.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Blake, Griffin, we’re moving out!” His voice was loud enough to carry, but didn’t have any heat. They broke apart. “Let’s put this thing to bed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Dropship wasn’t quite the same without Clarke. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After every case they closed, the team would move out to their favourite bar to decompress, tucked into booths next to brick walls or sitting at bar stools under the ceiling full of fairy lights. It warmed the room with that soft yellow glow, and the ever-present rumble of conversation and low music in the background gave it a comforting feel; even more important after a case as intense as that. Bellamy knew first hand how hard it was to deal with something like that alone.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Thankfully the staff were used to seeing their faces by now and knew they were cops, so no one commented on the shiner Bellamy was sporting on his face, courtesy of Emerson. He was just glad to be around the people he cared about, and not brooding alone in his apartment.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He and Miller got there first, Raven shortly after. Before long, the whole team was crammed into a booth, even Kane stopping by for a beer before leaving, not wanting the boss to cramp their style. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Well, the whole team minus one.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bellamy was nursing his fourth drink and staring at his phone when Murphy called him out. “That won’t make her appear.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hm?” He lifted his head.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Looking at your text thread with that sad puppy look in your eyes.” He gestured to his phone as he raised his whiskey glass to his mouth. “Clarke’s not coming, man.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bellamy chewed the inside of his cheek as he digested the possibility. Once they’d processed McCreary and Emerson and handed them off, Miller made the suggestion to meet at The Dropship tonight. Clarke hadn’t been that enthusiastic about it and said she might stop by, but she hadn’t responded to his texts for a while now, and Raven had said she was a little out of sorts when she got home. He pocketed his phone with a sigh and tried to refocus on his friends, noticing Monty chatting up a pretty blonde girl at the bar while he ordered. “I’m just a little worried about her.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“She knows we’re all here,” Miller elbowed him gently. “If she wants company she knows how to find us.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded and took another sip of beer, but didn’t really settle until Raven spoke. “She’s lucky to have you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” he said with a small smile. “You’ve got it backwards.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Understanding crossed her face, and she raised her bottle to cheers with his. He knew Raven and Murphy worked well together, and despite the initial friction, Kane had a knack for partnering people who complemented each other well. Sometimes though, when he watched them interact, he wondered if there was something more there. Even tonight, they would share little looks, small touches on the arm or the back, or he’d notice the way Murphy’s voice softened from his usual sarcastic drawl when he talked to her. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That drawl was there now though as Murphy, in classic form, barged right into an emotional moment. “Right,” he slammed his hands on the table. “Next round’s on me. Shots?” He didn’t wait for approval before he got up, making his way to the bartender as Bellamy leaned forwards in his seat.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Actually, guys, I think I’m gonna call it a night. See you tomorrow?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Miller put a hand on his shoulder. “See you tomorrow, man.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Get home safe.” Raven added as he stood up and headed for the door, waving goodbye to Monty and Murphy at the bar.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>With a tinkle of the bell overhead, the door shut behind him, taking with it the sounds of lively conversation and music, leaving him alone in the quiet street, nothing but the bracing cold of the Chicago night filling the air around him. The leather jacket kept the bite of the wind from piercing too deeply, and the few beers he’d had made him feel warmer than he was, even though he knew it was an illusion. His eyes drifted to the cab stand at the far end of the street and the yellow cars that waited there for the bar’s patrons to stumble out, and his fingers drifted to the wallet in his pocket. He’d already spent enough for the night, he decided; a walk would do him good.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As he turned in the opposite direction and started towards home, he could feel the blood pump a little faster through his body, soaking his limbs and his thoughts in whatever remnants of beer were still in his system. And, as his mind often did after a beer or two, he thought about Clarke.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He couldn’t even imagine what she was feeling after everything that happened today. That relief she must have felt after Murphy hauled McCreary away, that hug where he felt her emotions seep into his own bones, and then the distance she made for herself when they were back at the station. She’d been standing a little further away from everyone than usual. A little quieter. He supposed she thought no one noticed that she was shrinking away, but Bellamy saw everything. It was like he had a sixth sense for her, some built-in gauge that told him when something wasn’t quite right. She shouldn’t be alone tonight, not with all those memories from her past rising up to haunt her.  A small part of him wondered if she had the same gauge in her own head that was tuned to him. No one could ever read him the way she could, not even Octavia, and she had this way of knowing exactly when to push him to talk and when to pull back. Did he cross her thoughts half as often as she was in his? As strong as she was, he knew she’d be hurting tonight, and his mind wouldn’t let it rest.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He was halfway to her place before he realised where he was going.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clarke’s house was probably a little nicer than someone on her salary could afford, but with her mother’s job and with Raven staying while she searched for a new place, the building made sense. On a quiet street not too far from the river, Bellamy stood outside the black door and hesitated. What was he doing here? Would she even want to see him? He searched his head for any murkiness from the drinks, but it seemed that time and the walk had sobered him now. And here he was, hands in his pockets as he stared at the brass knocker. The lights were on inside, so she was home; he could tell that much as he approached, but the curtains downstairs were drawn. Overthinking this would get him nowhere - he knew that, so he decided he had to trust his gut on this. That sixth sense had brought him here for a reason, and before he could back out, he put a hand on the cool brass and knocked, committing to it now.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A few seconds later, he heard footsteps approach the other side of the door, pausing as she looked through the peephole. Then, it opened. Her hair was down, makeup off, gentle blonde curls brushing past the shoulders of her blue henley, still a little wet at the ends from a shower. She shivered as the cold hit her, and opened the door wider to let him in. “Hey.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>If the hoarseness in her voice was any indication of her mind right now, Bellamy was right to check on her. He crossed the threshold, rubbing his shoes on the mat as Clarke shut the door behind him. In the light of the hallway, he got a better look at her. Bare feet, old sweatpants, and a nasty bruise forming on her forehead from the altercation in the stairwell. He kicked himself for not noticing it at the time, not making her get checked out by the paramedics. “We missed you at The Dropship,” He said when she’d replaced the chain on the door.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She folded her arms. “Yeah, I just wasn’t feeling up for the whole ‘crowded bar’ thing tonight.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, Murphy’s buying shots, which I’ve never seen before - didn’t want you to miss out. Everyone’s still there, if you’ve changed your mind.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That earned a soft chuckle, more an exhale than a full-bellied laugh, but it was the first smile she’d cracked in a long time. “No thanks, I’m okay. I kind of just wanted to be alone.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bellamy looked her over once more, taking in the sound of her voice, the way it trailed off at the end of the sentence, her body language - chewing her lip slightly, brows lowered and slightly pulled together, and the way she wasn’t quite meeting his eyes. He knew that look. “Yeah, that’s not happening,” He gave her a smile that fell somewhere between comforting and teasing as he walked further inside towards the kitchen. “Sorry.” From the look he cast behind him, he knew she was following, knew if she really wanted him gone she could have kicked him out by now. Up a few steps and around the corner was Clarke’s kitchen, spacious and open, with modern cabinets and marble countertops, three glass-cased bulbs hanging low from the ceiling over the kitchen island. At the end of the island, by a single pushed out bar stool, was an open bottle of wine and a nearly empty glass. “Pour one for me?” He asked, but she was already grabbing another glass. “How’s your head?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As she poured his, she refilled her own. “Hurts,” She took a sip. “It’s fine, I’ve had worse.” She gave him a tight smile and headed to the lounge, a silent invitation to follow. She curled up on the grey couch, propping herself up with the cushions behind her and stared into the fireplace as Bellamy joined her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She must have been listening to one of her records because the turntable was still spinning, the song finished now, but the crackle of the vinyl and the soft rumble of the fire was better than silence. He wandered over to the record player and found the album she’d been playing. “Vancouver Sleep Clinic?” He held the vinyl jacket up to show her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She cracked a smile. “Always helps calm me down.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He walked over to her, setting his wine down on the coffee table before resting beside her. “It’s over, Clarke.” His voice was barely a murmur as he placed a warm hand on hers. “You got him.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I know.” She squeezed his hand. “Just doesn’t feel as good as I thought it would. Too many bad memories, you know?” As if a cold breeze had crossed over her, she shuddered, withdrawing her hand and rubbing the back of her neck, where he knew that tattoo sat.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why’d you keep it?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She knew what he meant. “I thought about getting rid of it. For a long time, actually. But then I started seeing it less like a brand and more like a battle scar. It shows that I survived. Despite everything, I survived.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s because you’re strong. You’re stronger than you think you are.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I’m not.” She let out a breath and sniffed, tilting her head up slightly as if she could stop the moisture from leaking from her eyes. “I got lucky. If Wells wasn’t there, I wouldn’t be… I wouldn’t be alive right now. And these days I can hardly look at him. Can barely even talk to him. So no, I’m not strong. I lost a piece of myself that night.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bellamy took that in, let it settle as he formed his response. “I’ve only met Wells once, but I could tell he still cares about you. You were lucky to have each other as partners.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That seemed to stir something in Clarke, her features warming a little. “He was more than just a partner to me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you love him?” The question left Bellamy’s lips before he could wonder why he’d asked. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I did. But not like </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>, not the way that I-” Clarke stuttered, clearing her throat. “Not the way you mean. He was like my brother. And I’ve just abandoned him, like none of it meant anything. And it’s so selfish of me - because we never fell out, never had a fight, I just stopped trying. Because seeing his face reminds me of what happened when he found me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s your family, Clarke. That doesn’t just go away when someone’s going through a rough time. He still loves you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She huffed, rubbing her eyes with her free hand. “How could you possibly know that?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Because my sister has barely spoken to me in over two years, and I’d still drop everything and run to her if she called.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That got her attention. She stilled, searching his face with an intensity he hadn’t seen before. “I didn’t know you had a sister.” At his shrug, she sat forwards, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “What happened?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He debated telling her for a moment, not wanting to make the night about him, but he figured a distraction might do her good. And hopefully, she might take something away from the story. “You know I was in the army, right?” When she nodded, he went on. “I was in a unit with a guy called Lincoln. Wherever I went, he went, and we got really close. Always watched each other’s backs, always knew what the other was thinking without having to say it. And when things got tough, we were there for each other. By the end of our first tour, we decided we’d live together back on US soil. And by the end of our second, he was engaged to Octavia - my sister. And then on our third tour, we…” He trailed off, voice cracking. From the look on Clarke’s face she had filled in the blanks. “It was an IED. We were on patrol in the Rover, Lincoln was driving and I was on watch. I heard a little girl laughing on the street and looked over - she reminded me so much of Octavia when she was a kid. Same long black hair, same wild energy, and just for a second, I got distracted. But that was all it took for us to drive over the bomb.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was silent for a moment, and Clarke set her glass down on the coffee table next to his. “You blamed yourself.” It wasn’t a question.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded. “O blamed me too. She didn’t outright say it for a while, but we were on eggshells with each other for a long time. One day, a few months after I came back, we had this huge fight, and I think we both said some things we didn’t mean. It’s been pretty quiet since then.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m so sorry, Bellamy.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s okay.” He took a sip of wine just to have something to do with his hands. “I got through it. I mean, when I was deployed and I needed to talk, I’d talk to Lincoln. After he died, it was tough at first but I found Kane, found this unit. They had my back.” He chewed on his lip for a moment, watching her expression, trying to find the right words to get through to her. “Clarke, no one gets through something like this alone. It’s okay to lean on the people you love. The people who love you back.” She met his eyes then, and he saw the redness in hers, the tears reflecting in the light, threatening to spill over onto her cheeks, and he felt her take his hand. Something lurched in his chest at the sight of her like that, the feeling of her hand in his, her fingers slotting between his own, the smell of her shampoo, his heart pounding like the beat of a drum saying </span>
  <em>
    <span>Clarke, Clarke, Clarke</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and the wine loosed his tongue before he could stop himself. “Clarke, I-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I know.” She said softly. “I…” Her gaze drifted away, focusing on something else, anything else but his face. “Thank you for coming over, Bellamy, but I, uh,” She cleared her throat. “I’m fine. Really, I’m fine.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She gave his hand what was supposed to be a reassuring squeeze before she let go, but something inside him felt broken. Wrong. He’d made a terrible mistake coming here, opening up to her like that, and it burned a sickness into his stomach. All he could manage was a careful nod before standing up and walking to the front door.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clarke didn’t stop him as he left.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>an eternal special thank you to jen (eyessharpweaponshot) for your constant support and endless patience with me while i try to cobble my sentences together. love you &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hey friends!! dropping in with a trigger warning here: this chapter contains some pretty detailed descriptions of the aftermath of murders and crime scenes, and there's a LOT of blood involved, so if that's triggering to you then you might want to give this one a miss! for those of you who might be uncomfortable with this, I'll post a brief overview of the events of the chapter in the notes at the end. please look after yourselves!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Having a rebellious phase is a common side effect of growing up in a strict household. Clarke knew that better than most. If all those nights spent partying at college had taught her one thing, it was how to predict just how wicked your hangover would be the next morning. She had it down to a fine art back in the day, strategically planning how much she could get away with drinking before a day of lectures or even an exam. After a little trial and error in the first semester of her freshman year, she made it work. Created the perfect formula.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Or so she thought.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Christ, her head was pounding. The alarm on her phone was blaring again, but she’d already snoozed it three times and she could hear Raven moving around in the kitchen, the faint sizzle of eggs on the frying pan calling out to her. Clarke finally sat up, turning the alarm off for good. Wine on an empty stomach was a bad idea; maybe she was getting too old for this. She rubbed her eyes, trying to force some life into them before she popped some aspirin, downing it with the water on her nightstand. She’d barely managed to throw on some clothes before another smell from the kitchen wafted up to her, making her stomach growl. Was that… bacon?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When she made her way to the kitchen, her suspicions were confirmed: Raven Reyes, lifelong vegetarian, was standing over a pan, frying bacon. Hearing the footsteps over the crackling meat, Raven glanced over her shoulder at Clarke and gave her a once over. “You look like crap.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clarke snorted. “Good morning to you too. Did you finally cave?” She nodded to the frying pan as she walked to the coffee machine, groaning quietly when she realised it was busted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hm? Oh, no, no, this is for you. Saw the wine, figured you could use a greasy breakfast -  especially since we’re going without caffeine.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hearing that, Clarke perked up immediately, genuinely touched. “You made breakfast for me? With meat?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t get used to it, okay?” Raven muttered, sounding a little embarrassed, mistaking Clarke’s surprise for scepticism. “I never said it would taste good.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, Raven, it’s-” Clarke cut herself off, letting out a breath. “Thank you. Really, it’s just what I needed. Let me help you set the table.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Together, they managed to put together a pretty respectable spread of orange juice, fruit, yogurt, toast, eggs, and slightly charred (but still mouthwatering) bacon, and Clarke filled her plate with probably more than she could handle as they sat down to eat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So,” Raven said through a mouthful, “How much wine did you have last night anyway?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not enough to make me feel this shitty. I guess it really does get worse with age.” Clarke chuckled.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Expecting a laugh or a quip about gray hairs and wrinkles, she was a little surprised when Raven fell silent for a moment, analysing her. Clarke knew that look, she’d seen it on her face before, but it had never been directed her way. This was the expression she saved for the interrogation room. But, as quickly as it had appeared on her features, her face settled into a neutral calm as she returned to her eggs. In the same casual tone one might use to ask the time, Raven said, “Are you sure it’s got nothing to do with the fact that Bellamy came over last night?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clarke damn near choked on her OJ. “What? What are you talking about?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He was staring at his phone all night at The Dropship waiting for you to call, he left early, and when I got home there were two glasses of wine on the coffee table, not one.” She raised an eyebrow. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am</span>
  </em>
  <span> a detective, you know.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clarke huffed in annoyance, but she couldn’t even be mad at her; she was right after all. “I think I messed up.” She shot an apologetic look to Raven, who nodded encouragement. “He tried to open up to me, and I shut it down. Hurt him. Being undercover was rough on our partnership, and I don’t want to lose him. I’ve gone through that with a partner before, and I... I can’t lose him too.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something soft found its way into Raven’s eyes, a kindness she rarely showed behind her tough front. “I know this case was hard for you, Clarke, and I’m really glad you’re okay. But I don’t think you could lose that boy if you tried.”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite the wave of relief the team felt over taking down McCreary and his crew, when Clarke got back to the station, she was hit with a reminder that Chicago crime stops for no one. The familiar buzz of bodies roaming the district, phones ringing and being answered, the clacking of fingers typing on the old computers, and buzzers over the security gated doors rushed to greet her as soon as she stepped foot inside. Giving the desk sergeant, Indra, a quick wave while she handed assignments to patrol officers, Clarke and Raven buzzed themselves up to their unit’s workspace. They had both always been early risers, enjoying the quiet ease of the morning when the city began to rumble awake, but no matter what time they arrived at work, they had never made it in before Kane. If Clarke didn’t know better, she’d say the man slept in his office. This job was a part of him as inseparable from his being as his own skin; Kane lived and breathed and bled for this unit, this family. Clarke had nothing but respect for that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>From his office, with his desk’s old corded phone to his ear, he gave them a nod of acknowledgement while they sat down at their desks. Until he gave them a new assignment, they busied themselves by making sure all the paperwork from the McCreary case was completed properly, the rest of the team slowly filtering in while they worked. So engrossed in the files she was re-reading, she didn’t notice Bellamy’s arrival until he pulled out the chair at his desk in front of her. The small shriek of the wheels on the floor made her jump a little, drawing her eyes to the source of the sound to see him tugging off his coat, coffee in hand. He hadn’t said anything to her yet, though that wasn’t abnormal - they were well past a casual ‘good morning’ at this point, and instinctively she reached an expectant hand out for her usual coffee, only meeting his eyes when her arm hung in the air a little longer than usual.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh…” Bellamy cleared his throat, taking an awkward step back before raising the cup in his hand. “This one’s mine. Sorry - I guess I forgot today.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” She let her hand fall back down. “Yeah, of course, don’t worry about it.” Over the past few months, it had become routine for him to bring coffee for the both of them, even before her machine broke. It was such a small thing, something she shouldn’t expect from him and yet she’d gotten used to it, and now she was left with a feeling of something missing, like the coldness in your palm that comes after someone stops holding your hand. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s just a coffee</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she scolded herself, trying to bat away the feeling gnawing at her gut, but a soft, airy burst of cheerful laughter across the room caught her attention: Raven was smiling up at Murphy, who was leaning over her desk recounting a story. In their hands, the coffees he’d bought for them both. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s just a coffee</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought again, but that bite in her gut grew stronger. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Griffin!” Indra called from the stairs as she climbed up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Grateful for the distraction, Clarke shot out of her chair and straightened up her clothes. By the time she’d gathered herself, Indra was at her desk. “Sergeant, what can I do for you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t have time to grab you before you went upstairs, but vice called looking for you. Twice, actually, if you include last night after you got off shift.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clarke pulled a face, running all the possibilities through her head. None of them were good. “Really? What did they want?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She clicked her tongue, unimpressed. “They left a message.” Indra handed her a sealed envelope, her name handwritten on it, and she felt a thin slip of paper inside. “Do me a favour and get back to them, they sounded persistent. And though I dazzle in all aspects of my responsibilities, being a carrier pigeon is not in my job description. Don’t turn me into one.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Without another word, Indra turned on her heels and made her way back to her post downstairs, leaving Clarke somewhat bereft as she toyed with the envelope in her hand. It took her a while when she first joined this precinct to realise that Indra didn’t hate her, but rather disliked everyone until they proved themselves to her. And, though it may not appear like it to an outsider, Indra actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>liked</span>
  </em>
  <span> Clarke. Otherwise, she would have sent one of the many new, wet behind the ears patrol officers she had under her command to pass on the note. Despite the tone of her voice, and the general tough, cold exterior she presented to the world, the fact that she made the effort to hand-deliver a message was a mark of respect. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Risking a glance at Bellamy as she sat down, she found him watching her with a careful gaze, a hint of a frown creasing his forehead. She held the envelope at an arm’s length, studying Indra’s lettering as if it might lend a hint as to the contents of the note inside. Was this Wells reaching out? Or some problem with the original case that could jeopardize everything they’d worked for with McCreary? The thought that everything she went through, the toll it had taken on her - and on her partner - could be for nothing… she had to know. A creeping dread flooded her veins and she ripped the paper open, reading the note once, twice, three times before the panic settled, leaving only confusion in its wake.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She hadn’t realised how intensely she’d been staring at the words in the note until Bellamy cleared his throat, his head peeking out at her from behind his computer. “Clarke, what’s that about?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hm?” The paper slipped out of her hands, landing neatly on the desk before she scrambled to fold it up. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not buying her tight smile, he looked as if he was about to press her for more information when Kane stepped out of his office, finally finishing the phone call that had kept him so busy this morning.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That was Narcotics,” He addressed the room, his voice so commanding he didn’t have to bother checking if the team was watching him as he strolled up to the now-empty case board and pinned on some pictures. Clarke moved closer as the rest of the team gathered round, and she analysed what Kane had put up: crime scene photos of a body - a young woman in a short purple dress lay motionless on the ground, with litter scattered around her - blood soaking through her clothes around her abdomen. A river of red spilled out into a puddle underneath her from the ugly gash splitting her core, a mark of the brutality the girl had endured. Clarke tried not to flinch as she took it all in, shifting her focus back to the briefing. “They’ve been working on a tip that some girls working out of a strip club called Nakara have been recruited to be drug mules. Tracked their passport details, and a few of them have been flagged as suspicious for frequent short trips to Colombia, so they put a tail on them to build a case, try to flip the girls and get some info on the suppliers. A few days ago, one of the girls was a no-show for work, not at home either - early this morning she was found like this behind a dumpster.” He pointed to the photos, taking his time to make eye contact with everyone as he spoke. “Working theory is the drugs she swallowed weren’t coming out fast enough for whoever’s running this thing, so he cut it out of her and threw her away like trash. Her name was Maya Vie. Eighteen years old. Would’ve been nineteen next month.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Was she…” Raven’s throat sounded raw. “Was the cut post-mortem?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The brief pause, the way Kane chewed his cheek a little as he braced himself against the desk behind him was answer enough, though he spoke anyway. “Cause of death was exsanguination. Jackson noted defensive wounds, bruising on her wrists and ankles. She was alive when they did it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clarke barely suppressed the shudder that ran through her spine at the thought of what that girl went through. All that pain, that terror, that suffering… it was enough to make her stomach turn. Without even meaning to, she found herself looking for reassurance in Bellamy’s eyes, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was staring straight ahead at the wall with such intensity that it seemed he was trying </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>to look at her with every last shred of will he had. As if he sensed her eyes on him, he shifted and rubbed the back of his neck, fixing his eyes to the board once more. She thinned her lips into a line, masking the hurt, before she followed his gaze.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What kind of an animal does something like that?” Monty asked, shaking his head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The kind we’re gonna put away. Narcotics have asked for an assist, so I want eyes inside that club. Miller, we’re putting you in as club security.” At the mention of his name, he nodded in silent agreement. “Reyes, you’ve got a background tending bar and you’re fluent in Spanish. How do you feel about going in, making friends with the girls? Narcotics say the cartels prefer to use young Latina women, so whoever’s behind this might approach you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Raven didn’t hesitate for a second. “I’m in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Murphy wasn’t coping well.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Raven had been under for almost a week now, two days longer than Miller, and Murphy wasn’t taking the loss of his partner with ease. Kane had the foresight to make sure he wasn’t left alone on the job, and this time, it was Clarke and Bellamy who had to share the surveillance van with him. He was leaning forwards, propping up his chin with his thumbs as he watched the screens receiving the feed from Raven’s camera. Every time a customer eyed her up while she poured a drink, or threw a flirtatious comment or wink her way, he’d grumble in annoyance or make a face of disgust.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They’re looking at her like she’s a piece of meat.” He ground out, leg bouncing in agitation. “Who do they think they- oh </span>
  <em>
    <span>come on</span>
  </em>
  <span>! That guy’s trying to look down her shirt!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Indeed, when Clarke turned to the screen, the same customer she’d been serving beers to for the last half hour had been leaning over the bar, trying to peer down at Raven’s chest - inches away from the camera. Murphy slumped back in his chair, covering his face with his hand momentarily as if he could wipe the irritation away before he restrained himself. Bellamy glanced his way, taking in his discomfort. “Raven knows how to handle herself. She’ll be fine.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Seriously, you should see her when we go out for a girls’ night. She could have any of them flat on their ass in a second if she wanted to.” Clarke chipped in, but it did little to settle him down - especially when the man grabbed her wrist as she served him his next drink.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Murphy took off his headset. “I’m going in, this guy needs to learn how to-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Murphy</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Bellamy warned, but he was cut off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t tell me to calm down, Bellamy,” He snapped, throwing himself out of the chair. “As if you were so relaxed when </span>
  <em>
    <span>your </span>
  </em>
  <span>partner went under.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That was different and you know it.” Bellamy rose too, squaring up to him. “Now sit down.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Murphy’s voice was low and lethal, laced with threat. “Every time Clarke was in danger someone had to practically hold you down to stop you from blowing the whole op. You don’t get to tell me how to act.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clarke spun her head to Murphy at that. She didn’t know Bellamy had been so worried, he’d never given her any indication he’d been that close to pulling her out. Her gaze flitted to Bellamy, trying to search for the truth in his features, but he was getting in Murphy’s face now, firing back. “That’s because I didn’t want to have to watch my partner get </span>
  <em>
    <span>murdered</span>
  </em>
  <span> while I sat on my ass looking at a computer screen, not because some drunk nobody flirted with her and I started thinking with the wrong head!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you fucking seri-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Enough</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” Clarke bellowed, filling the space between them and pushing them apart. She gauged the two of them, watching their flaring tempers slow, waiting for their chests to stop heaving before she went on. “First of all, don’t talk about me like I’m not here - </span>
  <em>
    <span>either</span>
  </em>
  <span> of you. Second, Murphy, Raven is fine. She knows we’re outside, Miller’s in there with her, and if she wants our help she’ll use the safe word. You bursting in there and going off on that guy is only going to hurt the investigation. Who’s going to get justice for that girl if you do that?” Murphy’s jaw ticked but he nodded, as much of an agreement as she’d get from him, before she turned to Bellamy. “And you. What is going on with you?” Her voice softened when she turned to him, watching as he folded his arms over his chest. Ever since he came over to her apartment, something was different between them. Their usual banter was gone, as if it never existed in the first place. It was like they were starting from scratch - </span>
  <em>
    <span>worse</span>
  </em>
  <span>, in fact, because even at the start of their partnership, being around him was easy. Natural. Right. Her chest ached at the withdrawal, and she reached out a hand to him, needing a fix. Needing </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He jerked away from her touch, refusing to meet her eyes. “Nothing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A wave of hurt surged through her like a physical blow, and she took a step back as if he’d hit her. Even Murphy furrowed his brows, eyes darting between the two of them in wary curiosity. If he knew what was going on here he gave nothing away, and there was no time to press for more information before Bellamy’s phone buzzed in his pocket. Clarke barely had time to take in Bellamy’s shift in posture as he read the text, the change in his expression before Raven’s voice flooded the van with a message of her own.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“One of the dancers didn’t come in for her shift today, the girls are getting worried.” Her voice came through clearly over her mic, and from the monitors, they could see she was standing outside on a cigarette break. “Someone should drop by her apartment, do a wellness check.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A crackle of static over the comms. “Blake, take Griffin and knock on the door.” Kane radioed Bellamy. “Plain clothes.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The muscles in his jaw feathered, but he accepted the order. Hardly meeting Clarke’s eyes, he muttered, “I’ll be in the car,” before slamming the van door shut more forcefully than required.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Murphy lifted a brow. “Frosty. Good luck, Griffin. Looks like you’ll need it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bellamy was not, in fact, in the car. He was staring down at the phone in his hand, pacing while he waited for her to take off her CPD-issued jacket and beanie before she hopped out of the van looking like a civilian. The evenings were getting darker, the black of the sky taking her by surprise in contrast to the harsh fluorescents in the van. In the late hour, his frown was illuminated starkly by the brightness of the screen, but she knew better than to probe at what was troubling him after the way he rode Murphy a minute ago. He’d tell her if it was important, though. He’d always tell her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Kane sent the address directly to the car’s navigation system; it’s got a route set already.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clarke hummed. So they’d be all business, then. “You ready to go?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her hand hovered over the passenger side door when he hesitated, that crease in his forehead appearing as he looked down at his phone again. “Cover for me? I’ve got something I need to take care of.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The spiteful part of her wanted to bite back, still heated from the way he shut her down. It wanted her to barb, snare, poke at him, ask him what was more important than an eighteen year old girl ripped open and dumped like she was nothing. It wanted an ugly fight, a reason to justify why she felt so wounded when he froze her out back there. She was half tempted to do it, too. Then she saw the look in her eyes, and that thing between them that worked - that partnership, that bond - it settled her. Understanding flooded through her, not without some worry, too. “Is there something I need to know about?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For a moment, it looked like he was about to brush her off again, lie to her face, but he caught himself. With a sigh, he looked her in the eyes, and for the first time since that night in her apartment, she saw honesty in them. “No. Not for now, at least.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This was the Bellamy she knew. This was </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> Bellamy, and he was asking for her help. She let that sit, the truth of it settling into her bones, before she nodded. “Okay. Give me the keys.”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>As Clarke pulled up to Delilah Workman’s apartment complex, she couldn’t help the memories flooding back from her undercover op. The same run-down building exterior as Hailey’s place, the same peeling paint on the main door, and the same noises from the alleyways that set the hairs on her arm standing up straight. A small part of her wished she had Bellamy here after all, someone to ground her, tell her she was safe, and that McCreary was gone. That someone had her back no matter what. Fighting every instinct that screamed at her to run from danger, she made her way up the steps to the front entrance of the complex, catching the door as a resident walked out. She was grateful for that, at least she didn’t have to flash her badge. In a place like this, that usually sent people running the opposite direction.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Delilah was on the seventh floor, and Clarke groaned as she noticed the caution tape blocking off the elevator: out of order. Letting the annoyance wash over her like a wave, she calmed herself down before swinging open the door to the stairwell. It was just a staircase. Nothing she hadn’t conquered before; and she was in good enough shape that she probably wouldn’t even break a sweat on the climb. Her hand landed on the cold metal handrail and-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Clarke’s head slammed into the railing, McCreary’s hand making a fist in her hair. Stunned from the shock, she couldn’t fight it as he yanked her back up and tossed her across the hall, landing hard against the wall then crumpling to the floor.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I knew you were lying to me,” He seethed, stalking towards her while she wiped away the blood at her hairline. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Get up, get up, get up.</span>
  <em>
    <span> “I just didn’t want to believe it.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Her gun - she needed her gun. If she could just-</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A door crashed open from a floor up ahead, jolting her back to the present as laughter echoed down from above. Her heart jumped in her throat and she swayed, gripping the rail with both hands for support until she calmed down. She was safe, McCreary was gone, she was here to find Delilah. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Delilah.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The name grounded her, sending the assignment details flooding through her brain, and she spurred herself on with renewed purpose. Delilah hadn’t shown up for work, and she could be in danger. The intel coming from Nakara had been promising so far, but nothing hard enough to stick. Raven had been working on the girls, befriending them and trying to subtly attract the attention of the suppliers working from within. If she could entice them to ask her to be a mule, they could catch them red handed. Miller, meanwhile, had been accompanying the club boss, Cadogan, to secret meetings as part of his security detail. So far he hadn’t earned enough trust to do anything but wait outside, but he knew there was something Cadogan didn’t want outsiders to see. Nonetheless, until they found hard evidence of illegal activity, Miller would have to suffer through wearing that hideous white uniform a while longer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before she knew it, Clarke had hit the seventh floor. Just a short walk to the end of the hall took her to Delilah’s apartment, 713. She raised a fist to knock on the door, preparing to announce herself as police, when she noticed the splintered wood by the door, the dent in the frame, the slight crack of light filtering through from the apartment: someone had broken the door down. Someone got here first.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If Bellamy was here, she knew exactly what he’d be doing. Ruled by his heart, he’d be the first to spring into action if there was a chance somebody was in trouble. Clarke usually had to pull him back a little, remind him to use his head, call for backup, get a strategy in place before things went to shit. It was part of what made them so good together - they balanced each other out. Today, though, she’d have to be both head and heart on her own.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She drew her sidearm right away, listening closely for any signs of noise coming from behind the door. When she heard nothing, she quietly informed dispatch of the signs of a break-in over her radio, then made her way in to sweep the apartment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The door swung open to reveal the living room, and after Clarke scanned for bodies, finding none, she noted the mess - a glass of wine had been spilled onto the carpet, broken glass scattered along with it. The coffee table had been flipped, magazines strewn over the floor and a lamp lay on its side with the shade askew, the bulb flickering from damage. Something bad happened here.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Methodically, Clarke swept the connecting rooms, finding no sign of Delilah beyond those wine stains on the ground - but then she noticed a streak of red from underneath a closed door that didn’t come from a bottle: this was dried blood.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her finger twitching towards the trigger, she raised her pistol towards the door in question and twisted the handle - locked. Backing up a step, she reared up and slammed her weight into the door, breaking through to the bathroom and nearly dropping her weapon in shock when she saw what lay before her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clarke was too late. There, in the bathtub, lay Delilah - head almost caved in, her dark curls sticking to her skin with the blood, but that wasn’t the most shocking thing. Splattered on the walls, the floor, coating the tub, was a flood of dark, brownish-red blood that had leaked from the jagged cut that split her from the bottom of her stomach to her ribcage. She’d been ripped open and left there to die, exposed, in pain, and terrified. Just like Maya. Clarke was too late.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hands shaking, she holstered her weapon and grabbed the radio, informing dispatch and Kane of what she’d found. Even when she turned and walked out of the bathroom, the image of Delilah torn open haunted her vision, stuck there like a camera flash. Clarke was too late. Delilah was so young, and Clarke was too late.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sirens wailed in the distance, and she sank to the ground opposite the bathroom. It felt like seconds. It felt like hours. Faintly, at some point, she registered Monty’s voice in her ear, his gentle hands guiding her up to stand. Kane was there. Uniformed officers milled around, photographing the rooms. Help had come, but too late. Always too late.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The next day, Clarke knocked on the open door to Kane’s office, hanging back a little as she pushed it out further. “You wanted to see me, Sarge?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looked up from his files, letting the page in his hand fall. “Ah, Clarke. Yes, come in, close the door.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Trying not to let the last three words send her heart racing, she did as he asked, standing tall with her hands behind her back in an attempt to force good posture.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m still waiting on your report from the Workman residence.” Though the words were strictly professional, his tone told her why he’d called her into the office. He was worried - not in a patronising way, but the way a father might check in on his child. Echoes of Jake tugged at her memories.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She offered him a smile that said she understood the meaning. “I’ll get it to you right away.” He held his gaze, peering at her from over his reading glasses, and she squinted a little. “Is there something else?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you okay, Clarke?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The directness of the question surprised her, used to Kane speaking in subtext, and reflexively, she lied. “I’m fine.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was unconvinced. “Does this have anything to do with the fact that Blake wasn’t on scene with you when I arrived?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I-” She started, but slammed her mouth shut when he held up a finger.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If there’s something you want to tell me, now would be the time.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She paused, trying to sort through her options. Eventually, she sighed. “Bellamy had to step back to deal with something personal.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This isn’t an interrogation, Clarke, I’m just trying to look out for the team.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s all I know. He didn’t- he wouldn’t tell me anything else.” Her voice died down towards the end, as if ashamed to admit the truth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He weighed her answer before nodding, accepting her at her word. But when she made a move to leave, he called out. “Clarke.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, sir?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It was a tough scene. If you need to take a day then take a day. And don’t rush on that report.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She stilled for a moment before allowing a faint smile to rise on her face. “Thank you, Sarge, but I’m good. I just need to get back to work.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If that’s what you need.” As her hand made contact with the doorknob, he spoke once more. “When you see Blake, tell him I want to see him.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clarke nodded and went to her desk, where the unfinished report was waiting for her. She hovered over the keyboard before closing the document and reaching for her phone. Shift started over an hour ago, and Bellamy still wasn’t here. Her text thread with him had never looked so unbalanced - even with the frigid air between them, he never ignored her like this, never left so many messages unanswered. After a moment’s hesitation, she pressed the call button and put the phone to her ear.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She got his voicemail. “Bellamy, where are you? I was annoyed half an hour ago, now I’m worried. Call me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As she ended the call, a glass vase landed on her desk. “They’re sending you flowers, now.” Indra was standing over her, nodding to the arrangement of soft pink tulips and baby’s breath. “Have I sprouted wings, Griffin?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That felt like a trap. “No?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t think so. Yet here I am, a carrier pigeon. Call them back.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clarke opened her mouth to reply but Indra’s attention had already shifted elsewhere, looking into Kane’s office. Taking that as a sign their conversation was over, she examined the flowers, finding the note from vice lodged between tulips. She recognised the handwriting, and didn’t even have to open the card to know what it would say. The flowers were pretty enough, though, so although she discarded the note, she moved the vase into a better spot on her desk while Indra spoke to Kane, not paying them any notice until she heard Bellamy’s name.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ve got Diyoza on the phone ready to wring his neck; he missed court this morning - he was supposed to give evidence for a murder trial. What’s going on?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kane chewed the inside of his cheek before addressing the unit. “Has anyone heard from Blake today?” Met with silence, he turned to Clarke. “Griffin, what about you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, not since I went to the Workman place. He’s not answering his phone.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Murphy piped up then. “We were supposed to meet for a drink last night after shift ended, but he didn’t show.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why didn’t you say anything?” Clarke spun in her chair, a pit in her stomach forming.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I just thought-” He cleared his throat. “I thought, after what happened in the van, he didn’t want to see me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Monty, track his phone,” Kane ordered, before murmuring to Indra that he’d handle it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clarke stood and moved to Monty’s desk, where he’d started typing and pulled up a map to locate Bellamy’s phone, and watched from over his shoulder as the software zeroed in on a building. “Got it - he’s at a house on the south side of the city, and the place is registered to…” he brought up another window and searched through city records, bringing up a rap sheet for a well-built man with shoulder length brown hair. “Ilian Trishanakru. A couple of arrests for minor possession charges, but other than that he’s clean.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is he one of Blake’s CIs?” Kane approached the desk.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After some more typing, Monty shook his head. “Not in any records.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That pit in Clarke’s stomach grew deeper, nausea rolling through her. She gripped the back of Monty’s chair, steadying herself. This wasn’t like Bellamy - sure, he’d been a little distant with her lately, but he’d never flat out ignore texts and calls about work, he clearly hadn’t told Kane he wouldn’t be in work today, and the fact he didn’t show up to court set alarm bells ringing. A glance towards Murphy confirmed he was feeling the same thing, his knee bouncing like crazy as he watched Monty. Finding her resolve, Clarke pushed off from Monty’s chair and grabbed her jacket. “Let’s go get him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The first sign of trouble was in the car parked outside Ilian’s house. Thanks to some sleuthing (and the breaking of a few minor privacy laws) by Monty, they knew Bellamy had taken a cab from Nakara back to his apartment, swapping it out with his own car before driving here. Not concerning in itself, but when they peered into the windows they saw his badge and gun. He’d left them there - gone in undercover, unarmed, and without any backup.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kane had called Raven and Miller in, needing all hands on deck for this. Taking Bellamy’s usual place beside Clarke as they approached the house was Raven, while Murphy scoped out the rear entrance and the rest of the team waited for Kane’s nod, signalling them to take their positions for a door breach. Clarke was first up the porch steps, and when she saw the door had already been kicked in, her fingers found her weapon. Hearing the others do the same, she burst through the door, gun high, with the team close behind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Raven called out. “Police, come out!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Chicago PD!” Clarke shouted. “Bellamy, are you in here? Call out!” Using hand signals and taps on the shoulder to communicate, the unit swept through the house with Clarke leading the way until she reached the other end of the hallway, opening the back door for Murphy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As he stepped inside, he shook his head - nothing out back. Glancing behind her, he made eye contact with Raven. “No one home?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Raven holstered her weapon. “Miller and Monty are upstairs, signs of a struggle in the bedroom but no Bellamy - and no Ilian.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With Clarke’s gun back in its holster too, she took a deep breath, running both hands through her hair. Something wasn’t right. He couldn’t have just vanished into thin air, and there’s no way he’d go AWOL of his own volition. Before the others could read too much into her concern, she walked away to explore the house. There had to be clues in here somewhere, something to suggest what happened here. She needed a clear head - a clear picture of what happened here. So, the logical place to start was at the front door.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The hinges showed signs of forced entry - that could’ve been Bellamy, or it could’ve been a sign of foul play. Too soon to say, too soon to rule out any possibilities, but her gut told her it was the latter. No muddy footprints to follow as such, but nothing was out of place in the living room, and her eyes kept falling to the kitchen door, ajar, like it was calling out to her. Her legs felt light as she moved, like she was floating towards whatever it was that waited for her there, and as she rounded the corner into the room, she saw something the team had missed on their initial sweep.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>On your first entry into an unfamiliar residence, your primary concern is looking for people - threats to your lives or the lives of civilians in the building. You get used to scanning for bodies and weapons, ignoring furniture and other details until you have enough time to investigate. That’s when you find the destruction. That’s when you find the blood.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The pool of red Clarke saw set a chill into her bones, a flare of panic rising as Bellamy flooded her thoughts, and she called in the others. “Guys! Kitchen!” Then, a little quieter as she heard the footsteps approach, she continued. “I’ve got blood.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>While Raven and Murphy filed in, Clarke kept staring at that pool on the floor, seeping into the cracks between the white tiles. Her thoughts spiralled, and she found herself on a path that she never let herself go down on a case - she let fear take over. What happened here? Was that Bellamy’s blood? And with a pool that size… was he even alive?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That was the thought that snapped her back to the present. She refused to entertain the idea, not without evidence, not without proof. Bellamy was alive, he was okay. He had to be.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Looks like two people were injured.” Raven commented from behind, startling her. “There’s that puddle here, it’s neat and round, undisturbed, but there are smears over there. Whatever happened there, that one was messier.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She looked over to where Raven had pointed and found Murphy crouched by the refrigerator, streaks of red coating the nearby cabinets and floor. “Whoever they are, I don’t think either of them are in good shape right now.” He stood carefully, making sure not to stand in any of the blood. “There’s no way this happened quietly, we should check with dispatch to see if any neighbours called-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At his abrupt silence, Clarke watched him closely, the way his face fell, paling a shade as he looked at the pictures magnetised to the fridge. “What? Murphy, what is it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He reached out and pulled one of the pictures down, holding it up for her to see. At what looked like a party, a man and a woman were standing as close as lovers, the girl pressing a kiss to his cheek as he laughed. Clarke recognised him from the photo Monty had pulled up earlier - this was Ilian. But the girl… the long black hair, the tattoos - from the profile of her face, Clarke was drawing a blank. She’d never seen that girl before, but the way Murphy was looking at her, she felt like maybe she should know her.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <span>“Whatever happened here, Bellamy’s involved. And </span>
  <em>
    <span>she’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> got a real knack for sending people up shit creek. This is bad, Clarke, I think Bellamy’s in real trouble.” With the exception of Miller, Murphy was the most level-headed of them all. So when Clarke heard the worry in his voice, the way his foot tapped against the tiles, she knew he was being deadly serious. He pointed to the woman in the picture, answering the question before it could form on her lips. “That’s Octavia Blake. Bellamy’s sister.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>overview for those skipping this chapter: </p><p>we follow Clarke's POV in the days after Bellamy's visit to her apartment - she's worried she jeopardised their partnership by shutting him out, and he's being a little distant with her. Someone leaves a message for her at the precinct, and she ignores it. </p><p>Raven and Miller go undercover at Nakara, a strip club suspected to be involved with drug trafficking. Murphy freaks when Raven is hit on by some guys, cueing an argument between him and Bellamy that suggests to her that Bell was more worried for her during the McCreary case than she thought. Bell and Clarke get sent to chase up a lead, but he leaves to handle a personal matter, leaving Clarke to discover a crime scene on her own.</p><p>The next day, no one's heard from Bellamy and they track his phone to a house owned by Ilian, who's been busted on a few possession charges. There are signs of a struggle inside and Murphy finds a photo of Ilian and Octavia, suggesting that Bellamy went there to help his sister and something went badly wrong. </p><p>Bellamy's missing, likely badly hurt, and the team have no idea where he might be.</p><p>---</p><p>I hope you enjoyed this chapter!!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>as always, a huge thank you to jen (eyessharpweaponshot) for being my sanity and encouraging me every step of the way, from when i first had the idea to giving me a nudge to post. i love you &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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